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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294263">Miscellaneous Ficlets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironxprince/pseuds/ironxprince'>ironxprince</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ficlets [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:34:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironxprince/pseuds/ironxprince</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Ned Leeds/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ficlets [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Stucky: fading</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steven Grant Rogers is James Buchanan Barnes’ boyfriend.</p><p>They go for walks along the Brooklyn Bridge, but only at midnight, when no one can see them or judge them or throw them in jail. The nights are spent in silence for fear of someone overhearing, always comfortable but never relaxed, hands intertwined but eyes constantly pivoting. No matter how the night goes, who they see, it always ends with James lifting Steve by the waist until their lips connect, slow, soft, sweet, in tandem, in a perfect harmony that could never be overcome, never be erased.</p><p>Steven Grant Rogers is James Buchanan Barnes’ best friend.</p><p>They’re in the army now. Their time is no longer their own. <em>They</em> are no longer their own. They can’t hide their secret, so they end all intimacy. Fingers brush, then quickly pull away. Eyes meet, then swivel sharply in opposite directions, blinking back tears and wishing for something they know can’t happen, can’t come to pass. It’s not hard to keep secrets if there are none to keep.</p><p>Steven Grant Rogers is James Buchanan Barnes’ hero.</p><p>He flies in like an angel and helps James off that horrid metal table, when his repeating words of <em>Sergeant, 32557 </em>have become nothing more than background noise, words said on autopilot. It takes a moment of convincing before James realizes the image before him, Steve looking every bit as wonderful as the person he knows him to be inside, is real, is <em>present</em>, not an illusion conjured from seconds or minutes or hours or days or weeks or months or years of torture.</p><p>Steven Grant Rogers is the last face James Buchanan Barnes sees before he falls.</p><p>And maybe that’s okay. If James can only know, only remember, one face for the rest of his life, he chooses Steve’s. He just wishes Steve wouldn’t look so worried, so stressed, so <em>scared</em>. He should be smiling, just once more, for James.</p><p>James is scared.</p><p>Steven… Steven Rogers is a - a <em>friend</em> to James Bu… Buchanan.</p><p>Don’t forget Steve. Don’t forget Steve. They are making James forget everyone, every<em>thing</em>, else. As they strap his arms to the chair, as he fights and fights and hits guard after guard and more keep coming, as hope looks pointless, he swears, he <em>swears</em> he will never forget Steve.</p><p>Steve is special to Bucha… to Bucky.</p><p>Can’t remember why. Special, yes. Smiles. Good feelings. Happy memories. Can’t remember why. <em>Remember</em>. Can’t forget. <em>Don’t</em>.</p><p>Steve is… a name.</p><p>A name. Good name? Maybe. Happy… happy, good? Yes. Happy. Good. Don’t… don’t forget…</p><p>Steve is something.</p><p>Steve is… feelings. Remember. Remember what? Good. What is <em>good?</em></p><p>Steve is nothing.</p><p>Steve. Steve? B - Buc… Bucky, yes, Bucky doesn’t remember a <em>Steve</em>. Buck… B…</p><p>Steve is the target.</p><p>Red. White. Blue. Stars. Stripes. Bad. Hunt. Shoot. Kill.</p><p>Steve is the Asset’s mission.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stucky: conditioning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve lept forward and grabbed Bucky’s hands in his own, pulled them up to his chest and held them there. Bucky leaned away, his eyes wide and scared, but Steve just gripped his hands tighter.</p><p>“My turn,” he whispered, and Bucky nodded shakily. “I love you.”</p><p>Bucky stiffened, and Steve saw the gears turning in his mind, trying to remember and recollect what he had been told. He hurried to nod. “Real.”</p><p>“Okay.” Steve nodded encouragingly. “Good. You are safe.”</p><p>Bucky opened his mouth, and closed it again before shaking his head. “I…” he whispered, looking lost. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Okay.” Steve stepped forward and moved his hands to the sides of Bucky’s face, who stared back, terrified. “That’s okay, Buck. That’s okay. We can start with something easier, alright? You… you’re free from Hydra.”</p><p>Bucky bit his lip before nodding shakily and taking a deep breath. “R-real.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Steve smiled and dropped his hands to Bucky’s shoulders. “Yeah, real. Your name….” Steve paused, took a deep, cautious breath. “Your name is the A-Asset.”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes grew wild and he recoiled, stepping back so Steve’s hands fell off his shoulders. “Buck-”</p><p>“No.” Bucky stepped back until he hit the wall and watched Steve with wide eyes, continuously shaking his head. “<em>No</em>. Not- not real. Not real, not real, not real-”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve whispered, blinking tears from his eyes to step forward and, once more, grab Bucky’s hands in his own. He pulled Bucky forward until Bucky’s head fell onto his shoulder. “Okay. Good. Good. You are safe.”</p><p>Bucky took a steadying breath and slowly snaked his arms to wrap around Steve, pulling him close.</p><p>“Real.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Stucky: dance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky sets the vinyl in the record player and smiles as a song begins to play. He turns to look at Steve, who’s fidgeting uncomfortably.</p><p>“Are you sure, Buck?” he asks, fumbling with his fingers. Bucky crosses the room and grabs Steve’s small hands in his, stopping their mindless movement.</p><p>“Blinds are closed,” he confirms. “Becca’s out with Dot, and Da’s out training, you know this.”</p><p>“But what if he comes back?”</p><p>“You mean, what if Da’s permitted to leave the camp for one night just to catch his son dancing with a gentleman?” Steve’s eyes widen and he begins looking around, as if he fears someone will hear. Bucky takes both of Steve’s hands in one of his, using the other to tug Steve’s head to his chest and hold him there. “It’s just you and me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. “Nothing to worry about.”</p><p>“But what if-”</p><p>“I ship out tomorrow,” Bucky whispers. “Please, can we just enjoy tonight?” Reluctantly, Steve nods, dropping his head against Bucky’s chest. “Dance with me.”</p><p>“I don’t know how.”</p><p>“I’ll teach you.” Bucky begins to take Steve’s hands in his own.</p><p>“No- Buck, I really can’t-”</p><p>Bucky strokes a hand along Steve’s cheek. “C’mon,” he whispers. “I’m right here.” Steve looks up into Bucky’s eyes. Finally, he sighs.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Bucky positions Steve’s hands before dropping his head to look Steve in the eye. “Ready?” He smiles softly. Steve grins back, and Bucky begins to lead them around the room.</p><p>“What song is this?” Steve asks as he tries to step backward and almost trips. Bucky catches him effortlessly.</p><p>“I dunno, one of Ma’s old records, I think,” Bucky recounts with a reminiscent grin. “<em>Set The World On Fire </em>or something. By The Ink Spots.”</p><p>Steve’s silent for a moment as they take a couple more turns about the room. “Do you think she would’ve approved of me?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“Stevie, Ma loved you.”</p><p>“I-I know. But as your….”</p><p>They lapse into silence again as Bucky spins Steve round and round. Steve can’t help but laugh in Bucky’s arms.</p><p>“She knew,” Bucky says finally. “About me.” He pulls Steve to his chest and they settle into a gentle sway.</p><p>“How did she figure it out?”</p><p>“I dunno, honestly. She just… knew. She asked me about it one day. I didn’t know what to tell her, but she… she hugged me. She told me it was okay.” Bucky lays his cheek against Steve’s hair.</p><p>“And did she know about me?”</p><p>“She had her suspicions, I think.”</p><p>Steve tightens his arms around Bucky’s back and squeezes his eyes shut tight. “I wish I was going with you,” he sighs.</p><p>“No. You’re staying here, where I know you’re safe.”</p><p>“But what about you? How do I know <em>you’ll </em>be safe?”</p><p>Bucky sighs, planting his chin atop Steve’s head. “I’ll write to you, every chance I get.”</p><p>“Mary next door, she only got a letter last week - her husband left months ago, Buck!”</p><p>Bucky pulls Steve tighter against him. “I just want to be with you tonight.”</p><p>“But, Bucky, I’m scared-”</p><p>“So am I, Steve!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m terrified! I don’t want to go! I-I’ve never shot a gun, I’ve never- I’m going to have to kill people. I don’t want to do that,” he whispers. Steve just shakes his head, pressing closer against Bucky’s side as the song ends.</p><p>“I’m gonna miss you, Stevie,” Bucky says, movements falling still.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agrees quietly. “Well then, it’s a good thing you’ve got me here tonight.”</p><p><em>Hey Doc! </em>begins to play, and Bucky smiles, readjusting their positions and beginning to guide Steve around the room once more. “How lucky I am.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Winteriron: “Are you afraid…. of me? / Don’t… don’t leave me. Please, not- not again.”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Siberia, after that damn Hydra facility, after Tony’s world had come crashing down and he’d been attacked and left, alone, in the frozen tundra by someone he thought of as his friend, by someone he <em>trusted</em>, after he managed to get the suit back online for one final distress call to Vision (because he didn’t even have Rhodes or Natasha), Tony was exhausted.</p><p>He barely moved from the bed in his private room of the compound, couldn’t even find the energy to stand. Friday must’ve given Dum-E access to the elevator, as the bot managed to make somewhat edible sustenance and bring it to his bedside, but Tony ate it anyway. At this point, it was the only thing keeping him alive.</p><p>He managed to call his best lawyers to argue the Rogue’s case - for as much trouble they had caused him, they were his <em>team </em>- and just a week after… after <em>Siberia</em>, Friday let Tony know they had been pardoned, although they must remain inactive as heroes until a referendum was held for a newly-revised accords. Until that point, they’d have to remain in the compound.</p><p>Tony stayed in bed.</p><p>Friday had let him know when the Rogues arrived, but Tony didn’t find the need to greet them (neither could he find the strength). They knew their way around the compound. They didn’t need him.</p><p>He didn’t move from his bed, just staring up at the ceiling. He was pale and his entire body seemed to be trembling with exhaustion. <em>Maybe I’ll waste away like this</em>, he thought. <em>Steve Rogers will kill me like his buddy killed my mom</em>.</p><p>Speak of the devil, there was a knock at his door.</p><p>Tony blinked blearily at the ceiling, waiting for Friday’s explanation.</p><p>“It’s Sargent Barnes, Sir.”</p><p>Tony blinked blearily as he twitched his fingers, like he was beckoning James inside. He was lucky he programmed Friday to be so advanced and she got the message; he had the strength to do nothing more.</p><p>But when Friday unlocked the door and James poked his head through, when Tony caught sight of him, those blue eyes that had been so close to his own as the arc reactor was ripped from his chest, that metal arm that delivered punch after punch to his face and damaged his suit beyond repair, Tony couldn’t help but to jolt upright and flinch back.</p><p>He regretted it the moment he did it.</p><p>It was a sign of <em>weakness</em>.</p><p>James froze from where he was just stepping inside the doorway, eyes wide and unsure. Tony forced a breath in and out from between his teeth, forcing himself to make eye contact. He would <em>not </em>be weak. He couldn’t be.</p><p>“Tony?” James questioned quietly. Tony just closed his eyes as he took deep breaths, trying to calm his beating heart and attempting to shove back a headspin at the fast movement.</p><p>“It’s….” Tony forced his eyes back open, forced his features to relax even as his shoulders were tense. “Nothing. Come in.”</p><p>James slowly eased the door closed behind him, but remained by the doorway. “Are you afraid… of <em>me?” </em>he asked slowly, pressed against the wall, as far from Tony as possible, and his hand on the door handle. He was ready to bolt, if Tony would say the word.</p><p>Tony sighed, running a hand down his face, even as it shook with the anxiety of hindering Tony’s sight when there was a threat in the room.</p><p>“It’s been a long week,” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>James nodded slowly, taking a step away from the wall, keeping his hands from swaying and his palms forward. Tony took notice - it was a sign that he wasn’t dangerous, that he wouldn’t try anything.</p><p>Tony watched James as he stopped at the foot of the bed. James’ eyes began to flit around the room nervously before he squeezed them shut. When he opened them again, they were solely focused on Tony… and there was something different in them.</p><p>There was sadness.</p><p>There was <em>guilt.</em></p><p>“Listen, Tony,” he started slowly, and as he spoke, his voice soft and gentle and words compassionate, Tony felt his hard exterior begin to melt away. “I didn’t mean for… for any of that to happen. I never wanted it to get out of hand, like it did. I mean, there were a million other ways we could’ve gone about that, and if Stevie wasn’t such a hothead….” He smiled, but there was a hint of disappointment behind it.</p><p>“I woke from Hydra’s control, and I was… <em>lost</em>. Steve was a familiar face. He was all I knew, and so I knew nothing better than to follow him. But, Tony….” James leaned forward, and Tony found himself inclined to mirror him. “If I had the choice, I would’ve sided with you.”</p><p>Tony’s brow furrowed, all fear from before morphing into confusion, into a pounding in his head and a racing heart… but this time, for a <em>different </em>reason that Tony couldn’t quite identify.</p><p>At Tony’s continued silence James nodded once, looking down, and began to turn back toward the door. Images of the same departing body, but this time free of dirt and grime and snow, swirled to the surface of Tony’s mind, and he spoke without thinking.</p><p>“Don’t leave.” James turned slowly, and Tony began to gnaw anxiously on his lip. “Please,” he continued anxiously. He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he wanted James to stay, but he knew… it felt right.</p><p>“Alright,” James said slowly, stepping back toward the bed. Tony nodded to his comforter, and James took a seat near the foot of the bed, watching Tony nervously. It hit Tony all at once - James had hurt Tony… but Tony had been the one to make the first move.</p><p>James was as scared of Tony as the latter was of him.</p><p>Tony took a deep breath. He had to say this, no matter how hard it was going to be.</p><p>“Listen, about… my parents-” James stiffened, his shoulders rising up to beside his ears, his muscles tense, eyes wide as he watched Tony. It looked like he was holding his breath.</p><p>Tony had never seen someone so big look so small.</p><p>Tony reached forward slowly, placing his hand atop James’ that had curled into a fist in his lap. James looked down at it anxiously, but slowly he relaxed, eyes focused determinedly on Tony’s hand atop his.</p><p>“I forgive you,” Tony said quietly, with a small smile. He felt tears beginning to brim, but he didn’t think to wipe them away, because that would hinder his sight, and he didn’t want to miss any of this - James, looking back at Tony like the man had given him everything, his eyes alight with hope and gratitude, his mouth slightly agape.</p><p>Tony laughed quietly as he used his free hand to wipe hastily across his face. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t really <em>you</em>, so….” He shrugged, guilt beginning to flood back into his features as he looked up to James. “I won’t apologize for being mad, back in the bunker, because it was a human response, I’d think….” He quieted his voice and James leaned forward, holding on to every word. “But I’m sorry I reacted so harshly.”</p><p>James smiled and lifted his free hand to rest atop Tony’s, so the latter’s hands were engulfed in James’ larger ones. For a moment, all they could do was smile softly at the other, a broken relationship mended… and maybe even improved.</p><p>“So, I guess I should get this whole <em>Accords </em>thing fixed, huh?” Tony said lightly, not once removing his eyes from James, who smiled.</p><p>“Just don’t compromise too much.” His words were teasing, but Tony heard the solemnity beneath them. Then, James’ brow furrowed as he took a closer look at Tony’s face. “Geez, Stark, you’re not looking so good.”</p><p>“Yeah. well, you’re no model yourself, Barnes.”</p><p>James brushed off the joke and leaned forward, lifting a hand to place it gently against Tony’s cheek. Tony didn’t lean away, eyes focused intently on James as the man gently brushed his thumb under Tony’s eye.</p><p>“You’re too pale,” he muttered, almost to himself. “When was the last time you ate?”</p><p>“Dum-E brought me a mostly-edible smoothie yesterday,” Tony joked, but James frowned, clearly not impressed.</p><p>“Not good enough. We’re fixing that, right now.”</p><p>Tony startled in surprise, still not pulling away from James’ touch. “Wha-”</p><p>“Food. Now.”</p><p>“Sargent, I’m fine-”</p><p>James shook his head. “Not good enough.”</p><p>“Look, I’ve gone longer without food. It’s-”</p><p>James’ eyes widened in alarm, and that was how the Avengers, Rogues and all, were united in laughter and downright confusion at the sight of James carrying a disheveled Tony, bridal style, into the kitchen for a ‘40s-styled meal.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Ironhusbands: stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a long day of classes, all James wants to do is get back to his dorm and sleep the weekend away; homework can wait for 2am on Monday morning.</p><p>His plans are foiled when he shoves open the door to his dorm room and sees Tony hunched in the far corner of his bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glowers at the newcomer.</p><p>Well, James can put off sleep for a couple more hours.</p><p>James drops his bag as he closes the door and leans with his back against it. He squints at Tony, waiting for the kid to speak. Tony says nothing.</p><p>“Out with it.” Tony glares at James, but remains silent. “Come on, man. Just talk to me. I don’t want to be dealing with a moody 14-year-old all night-”</p><p>“I’m 15.”</p><p>“Aha, he speaks.” Despite himself, Tony manages a small smile as James steps toward him, settling beside Tony on the mattress. “So, what’s up?”</p><p>“Dad’s being an idiot again,” Tony mutters, and James catches sight of a letter clutched tight in Tony’s right hand. He reaches for it, gently prying it from between Tony’s fingers, and Tony lets him take it.</p><p>James unfolds the letter over his thigh. The first thing he notices is all the creases around the corners of the page from Tony’s fidgets; he probably rolled and unfurled the corners as he read and reread the letter. Near the edge of the page is a water droplet. From the corner of his eye James peers at Tony and his suspicions are confirmed; the kid’s eyes are red. Crying.</p><p>With a clenched jaw James reads the letter that tells Tony he won’t be welcomed home for Christmas; the Starks are hosting a party, and they don’t want a child thrown into the mix. <em>Take this as an opportunity to focus on your studies</em>, Howard writes, and at the bottom of the page, a grand, looping signature.</p><p>James has the sudden urge to draw a line through it.</p><p>“The Osborns have a kid,” Tony says, picking at a string on his jeans. “Norman, I think. <em>He’s </em>gonna be there.”</p><p>“Tones, you don’t know for sure-”</p><p>“Dad’s problem isn’t with kids, it’s with me.”</p><p>James folds up the letter and sticks it in his pocket; he’ll throw it out later. “Alright,” he sighs, standing from the bed. “Come with me.”</p><p>“What?” Tony sniffles, wiping away a tear.</p><p>“Come on.”</p><p>“But where are we-”</p><p>“Just shut up and follow me, idiot.”</p><p>Tony grins, blinking away the last of his tears as he slides off the mattress and pads after James.</p><p>//</p><p>“Where are we-”</p><p>“Do you ever shut up?” James says as he peers around the corner of their dormitory before stepping onto the pathway and walking through campus. Tony snorts, falling into step beside him. “We’re going to a secret place.”</p><p>“Ooh, I love you, honeybear, but I don’t swing that way.”</p><p>“Yeah, you do.”</p><p>Tony grins. “Yeah, I do. But don’t tell anyone.”</p><p>“And just who are you expecting me to tell?” James says, holding a hand behind him to stop Tony and press him up against a building as a teacher walks by. Once they’re out of sight, James looks down to Tony. “Unless you’re worried about Roberta Rhodes knowing your secret, you’re all I have. There’s no one else to tell.” He moves out from the cover of the building before Tony has the chance to respond.</p><p>James guides Tony to the outskirts of campus where a small library lies. He moves around to the back and pushes aside some tree branches, revealing an assortment of pipes.</p><p>James turns to a wide-eyed Tony, holding the branches aside and gesturing up the makeshift ladder. “After you.”</p><p>A wide grin spreads across Tony’s face as he grabs the first pipe and hoists himself up. James follows not long after, pulling himself up to sit along the edge of the roof where Tony awaits him, looking up at the sky. As silently as possible James settles himself into a comfortable position, watching as Tony’s young face lights up with the show above.</p><p>“You like it?” James asks gently. Tony doesn’t even look away from the sky; he barely blinks, simply opting to nod his head once. “Good. Yeah, Mom taught me this trick. Whenever you’re feeling down, or overwhelmed, or just… generally shitty, you look up at the stars. There’s so many, you just… you feel small, your problems insignificant, and it helps.” He turns his head to the side. “Does it help?”</p><p>The tears streaming down Tony’s cheeks answer his question.</p><p>“Tell them,” James urges quietly. Tony sniffles as he moves to wipe away his tears, but James catches his wrist before he can make contact. “Don’t suppress it. Feel it. Tell them.”</p><p>Tony follows James’ gaze up to the night sky, up to the stars. “They won’t judge you,” James whispers. “They won’t be mad at you. They will forgive you, they will teach you to forgive <em>yourself</em>, and you can move on.”</p><p>Tony nods, leaning against James’ side. James wraps his arm around Tony’s shoulders to accommodate him as Tony leans his head back, and begins to talk.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Interwebs: secret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Peter, I just don’t think this is a great idea,” Ned says, laptop settled on his legs as he reclines on the bed in his hotel room. Finding out Peter was Spider-Man, it was <em>incredible! </em>Ned just didn’t think he’d have to be sneaking around Tony Stark as part of the job. “I mean, what if this is illegal?” Because messing with what’s clearly a multi-million dollar suit to remove a safety precaution <em>definitely </em>seems illegal, and Ned doesn’t want to get on Tony Stark’s bad side, as great as his desire is to help Peter.</p><p>Peter hops down from his bed, landing on his knees beside Ned’s mattress. Ned tries to ignore how his heart skips a beat with Peter so close to him; if, suddenly, his stupid <em>crush </em>is thrown into the mix, he’s doomed! There’s no way he’ll be able to hold his ground. “Look, please. This is my chance to prove myself. I can handle it. Ned, come on!” Peter begs.</p><p>“I really don’t think this is a good idea.” <em>I can’t hack Tony Stark’s suit, because if I do, you’ll go running off into danger, and I won’t be able to rest well knowing </em>I’m <em>the one that condoned it.</em></p><p>Peter leans forward, his face just inches away from where Ned’s hands rest over the computer - Ned prays Peter doesn’t notice them shake as he gets closer. “The guy in the chair,” Peter whispers, peering up at Ned with these adorable wide puppy-dog eyes that- shit. Ned’s walls are down.</p><p>Ned tries to turn his head away. “Don’t do that.” <em>I can’t see you and your beautiful brown eyes, I can’t see you….</em></p><p>“Come on,” Peter whispers, and, yup, Ned can’t restrain himself anymore.</p><p>A couple of keyboard clicks and mouse swipes, and Ned finishes his job rather quickly. The face Peter makes, the expression of pure admiration as the Spider-Man suit lights up blue, free of its training wheels, Ned pretends it’s directed at him. It makes this whole thing worth it.</p><p>//</p><p>Not even thirty seconds after Peter disappears out of the hotel room, Ned’s phone begins ringing. The inevitable <em>Maybe it’s Peter</em> crosses Ned’s mind, as it does every time he gets a phone call, accompanied by the quickening of his heartbeat. He flips his phone over; it’s a call from a private number.</p><p>“Hel-”</p><p>“<em>You’re not Spider-Man, so why do you have the suit?</em>” the voice on the other end of the line demands. Ned’s eyes fly to the window - is someone watching him?</p><p>“Who’s this?” he asks as he begins investigating. Are there hidden cameras somewhere in this room? Is he being watched?</p><p>“<em>Stark.</em>”</p><p>“Sta- Tony Stark? Sir, is this Tony St-”</p><p>“<em>Who are you and why do you have the suit? Where’s Spider-Man?</em>”</p><p>“Sir, this is Ned Leeds. I’m a friend of P- Spider-Man.”</p><p>“<em>You know his identity.</em>”</p><p>“No, I don’t!” Ned rushes to correct, gnawing on his lower lip. Tony Stark. He’s speaking to <em>Tony Stark</em>. “I don’t- Sir, how did you know I had the suit?”</p><p>“<em>You think I wouldn’t notice someone hacking into my programs and moving things around?</em>” Ned holds the phone away from his ear as he curses himself under his breath; he must’ve missed a line of code, some kind of security measure. “<em>Where’s Peter?</em>”</p><p>“He’s-” No. <em>No</em>, Ned can’t tell Tony where Peter is, because Peter <em>trusted </em>him with this! This might be Peter’s chance to prove he’s not a kid, but it could also be Ned’s chance to prove he’s trustworthy, that he’s worthy in general, worthy of Peter and everything about him. “He’s, uh… right here! Yeah, here he is! Say hi, Peter!” Ned sticks the phone under a nearby pillow to create a muffled effect as he lowers his voice, saying, “Hi Tony!”</p><p>Ned winces the moment the words are out of his mouth. Peter calls him <em>Mr. Stark</em>, doesn’t he? Ned lifts the phone back to his ear and holds his breath. There’s no response, at first - does Tony believe him?</p><p>“<em>I see you removed the tracker,</em>” Tony hums from the other end of the line. Well, at least Ned did <em>that </em>part properly. “<em>Last chance, kid, where is he? It’s admirable you’re trying to protect him, but also very stupid when you consider who you’re dealing with.</em>”</p><p>Ned squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. The tone in Tony’s voice, Ned’s heard this before - he’s a worried guardian, meaning he won’t stop until he’s sure his ward is safe. Ned can’t lie his way out of this one.</p><p>Reluctantly, Ned turns the suit tracker back online.</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t hate me, Peter.</em>
</p><p>//</p><p>An hour later, Ned gets a text, once more from a private number:</p><p>
  <em>Outside. Black Audi.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>TS</em>
</p><ol>
<li>Tony Stark? How did Tony Stark find his number? How did Tony Stark find his loca-</li>
</ol><p>Tony Stark. Right.</p><p>Not that surprising once Ned considers, in Tony’s words, <em>who he’s dealing with.</em></p><p>Ned sighs anxiously, pocketing his phone with chewed nails, his feet aching from the constant pacing he had done. He can’t believe he turned Peter in! Well, now, at least, Peter’s not in danger. Ned can rest easy about that, even if Peter hates him from now on. Even… if Peter never speaks to him again.</p><p>Ned takes a shaky breath. <em>One thing at a time. </em>Black Audi parked outside.</p><p>He staggers his way down the hallway, narrowly avoiding a wandering Mr. Harrington, and having to press himself back against the far wall to remain hidden from his teammates in the pool, but eventually he makes his way outside.</p><p>There’s no way he could miss the car; it’s parked in the spot nearest the hotel doors, headlights on, shining right in his face. Ned takes a moment to just take it in - he’s about to get into a stranger’s car. Well, the stranger is Tony Stark, but a stranger nonetheless.</p><p>The high beams flash twice, and Ned shields his eyes as he steps forward. “Alright, alright,” he mutters as he hurries to the car, pulling the door to the backseat open - and, holy shit, there’s Peter.</p><p>Peter’s head is down as he plays with his mask in his lap. He’s still wearing the suit, but it really doesn’t have the same effect when he’s hunched over in the backseat of a vehicle, hair tangled and doused in sweat. There’s an angry crease between his eyebrows. <em>I put that there</em>, Ned thinks with a pang in his heart.</p><p>“Inside,” a voice demands from the vehicle, and Ned slides into the backseat, shutting the door behind him. The car begins moving instantly, and Ned focuses on remaining still in his seat, on <em>not </em>touching Peter - he doubts the contact will be welcome right now. <em>You really screwed up</em>, he thinks as he stares down at his feet.</p><p>“Ned Leeds.” Ned looks up, and his mouth drops open.</p><p>Tony Stark himself sits in the passenger seat, turned in his chair. The top button of his suit is open and his tie loosened, and his hair sticks up in every odd direction. In the light of passing streetlamps, he looks positively manic, not at all like the Tony Stark seen in front of the cameras.</p><p>“So you’re the kid who hacked my suit.”</p><p>Ned swallows thickly. He feels sweat beginning to gather at the back of his neck, but he refuses to let it show. He’s going to be strong for Peter - it’s the least he can do right now.</p><p>“Yes, Sir.”</p><p>Tony gives a rough nod. “Honest. I respect that. We’ll discuss the logistics of how and the whole <em>knows the secret identity </em>thing after. Care to tell me why you did it?” His voice is taut. He’s holding on by a thread.</p><p>“Well, there was a- a vulture guy, I think,” Ned mutters. “We had to take him down.”</p><p>Peter lifts his head slightly, looking up at Ned. Ned catches the movement from the corner of his eye and it helps him sit up straighter, more proud. <em>We</em>.</p><p>Tony chuckles ruefully. “<em>Take him down.</em> Of course. Do you remember me telling you that there are people who handle this stuff?” Tony’s gaze is turned to Peter, but he keeps his head down. “<em>Parker</em>.”</p><p>Peter’s head snaps up, eyes wide, as he glares at Tony. “Yeah, well, where are they? I had to do something!” Peter shouts back.</p><p>“Peter-”</p><p>“I have these powers, what use are they if I can’t use them for good?”</p><p>“You <em>do </em>use them for good, every day!” Tony shoots back. “Good for <em>your </em>level. Stopping bike thieves, helping old ladies walk home-”</p><p>“<em>My </em>level?” Peter interrupts, offended.</p><p>“Forgive me if I don’t believe you’re Avengers material, especially after this little stunt.”</p><p>Peter’s mouth falls open. “You- you could use a guy like me on the team! At least I’d actually get stuff done! Maybe you’re just scared to involve me because you know Spider-Man is <em>so</em> much better than Iron Man!”</p><p>Tony raises a brow, but remains otherwise unresponsive. He signals a hand to the driver whom Ned hadn’t even noticed before now.</p><p>“We’re taking you back to the hotel,” Tony says as he begins to turn back around in his seat, setting his shoulders. “You’re giving back the suit.”</p><p>Ned looks to Peter, whose face falls. “But I- what?”</p><p>“Yup,” Tony says loudly, popping the <em>p</em>, without turning around.</p><p>“But I can still-”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“I want to <em>help!</em>”</p><p>Tony turns sharply in his chair and fixes Peter with a stare so cold, Ned almost flinches back. The orange glow of the streetlamps makes the scene look that much more eerie.</p><p>“You’ve done enough,” Tony says, and Peter falls back in his chair, dejected. Tony begins to turn back around, and Peter angles his head to glare out the window, but Ned can’t let it end like this - he won’t.</p><p>“Tony?” he says, and Tony barely looks over his shoulder, but even that is enough to make Ned nervous. “I-I think Peter is right.” Slowly, Peter turns his head away from the window. Tony’s eyes narrow, but not inquisitively; more like a predator waiting for its prey to make its move so he can figure out exactly how to devour them. Ned wants to take it back, but he feels Peter’s wide eyes on him, and he refuses to stop now.</p><p>“I mean, this man seems dangerous and Peter… he just… he wants to do what’s right, right?” Peter gives a shaky nod, his eyes lighting up. “And he showed me this glowy thing-”</p><p>“Oh, a glowy thing,” Tony scoffs, throwing his hands up.</p><p>“He just wants to help, and I think you should let him, because this is- it’s something really dangerous, Tony!”</p><p>The corner of Tony’s lips twist as he peers closer at Ned, and Ned forces himself to remain still, because Peter’s eyes are so wide and full of admiration, he looks like a kid on Christmas.</p><p>Slowly, Tony turns his gaze to Peter. Ned admires the way Peter stares back.</p><p>The vehicle comes to a stop in front of the hotel, and Peter and Tony continue to stare at each other. Ned makes eye contact with the driver in the mirror. He’s a little tough to read, but Ned takes their shared look to mean, <em>What the hell is going to happen next?</em></p><p>“How much trouble did the extra webs give you?” Tony asks with a raised brow; if Ned didn’t know any better, he’d mistake it for humor.</p><p>Peter blushes, turning his eyes downward. “Too much.”</p><p>“Hm.” The equivalent of a laugh in this conversation, Ned guesses. “Alright, well, I’m hitting the figurative undo button on all the changes your buddy here made on the suit - nice effort, by the way,” he says to Ned, but Ned’s too worried about his… his <em>friend </em>to focus on it. “We’ll stay in touch. But <em>you</em>-” Tony narrows his eyes as he looks back to Peter. Peter’s lip trembles slightly, and Ned’s eyes fly between them.</p><p>And then, Tony lifts his chin. “Tell me everything you know about this flying vulture guy.”</p><p>Peter’s shoulders relax and Ned heaves a sigh of relief as Peter begins to speak. Sometime during his explanation his hand finds Ned’s in the seat between them. Tony’s eyes fly down to their intertwined fingers and flit back to Peter within the second. Ned doesn’t mind; he doesn’t hear anything Peter’s saying, either.</p><p>He’s too damn happy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bucky: transformation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky saw himself two days ago.</p><p>It was an image of himself in a museum - except, it <em>wasn’t </em>him. The man had Bucky’s name, and his face, but not his information - Bucky didn’t think. Then again, he didn’t remember much about himself, anyway.</p><p>The person he saw was younger, with shorter hair and an aura of confidence about him. He was staring at the camera like he was ready, proving that he could be brave, he could be strong. It was clear in his eyes - this young man hadn’t yet seen war.</p><p>Bucky had. And so, that wasn’t him.</p><p>Bucky saw himself yesterday morning.</p><p>He was in a newspaper, the image shadowed as eyes looked directly at the camera, and this… this might’ve been him. Panic rose in his throat, suffocating him. He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t <em>know</em>.</p><p>Did he explode this bomb? Was he in Vienna? Did someone get near him and use the words to activate… <em>it</em> without his knowledge? Bucky honestly didn’t know. Those sure looked like his eyes in that blurry, black-and-white newspaper photo. </p><p>Bucky didn’t know anymore. And so, that might’ve been him.</p><p>Bucky saw himself yesterday afternoon.</p><p>He saw his reflection in his glass cage. He was in the back of a van, and every now and then, the chair he was strapped into shook and rattled with the bumps of the road. He remained stoic. He couldn’t even bring himself to flinch.</p><p>They unloaded him on a conveyor belt, and outside of the glass, he saw Steve and two men he hadn’t met before, watching him. He couldn’t look back. He couldn’t meet the new men’s scrutinizing gazes, or Steve’s… <em>disappointed </em>one. So, he looked at himself instead. His arms and ankles, which were encased in heavy, metal bands. The strong lengths of metal which wrapped around him and seemed to affix themselves around his shoulders, arms, and torso, keeping his body stuck in his chair.</p><p>He was chained like an animal, being treated how he deserved to be. And so, this was him.</p><p>Bucky saw himself today.</p><p>He was in a recording. It was old and grainy, but that was definitely him - it <em>looked </em>like him. And even if it wasn’t, he remembered. He remembered that day, and he hated himself for it.</p><p>He watched as he drove a car (the Stark’s family car) off a road, punched in the face of the man in the driver seat (Tony’s father), strangled the woman in the passenger seat (Tony’s mother). He watched as Tony stared at the footage in disbelief, as he passed through the stages of anger and grief and every other ugly emotion in the span of thirty seconds. He watched Tony’s eyes glow with anger as the man stepped toward him, and Bucky couldn’t manage to get his own gun up in time to properly defend himself with the blood rushing in his ears, so it was a good thing Steve caught him - but maybe it would’ve been better if Steve <em>didn’t</em>. Maybe he should’ve let Tony attack Bucky. Goodness knows Bucky deserved it.</p><p>Bucky saw himself clearly today. And so, this was him.</p><p>Bucky saw himself two days later.</p><p>He saw his reflection glinting off his metal arm, the one that <em>used </em>to be his, as it was gently detached, lifted, and carried away from him. He saw his own features, though distorted in the curves of the metal, looking the most calm and relaxed they’d been in years. In <em>decades</em>.</p><p>He saw the white he was wearing, the white surrounding him - the colour of purity and renewal. He saw the way people moved around him, giving him reassuring smiles and gentle pats on the back when they knew he was aware of it, waiting for consent until they knew he was prepared.</p><p>Bucky saw himself as <em>not </em>himself - but he saw himself as getting better. He saw himself as something he <em>could </em>be.</p><p>Maybe he would see himself someday, and maybe that was enough for now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bucky: the knowledge of the soldier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Soldier doesn’t know what he knows, but he knows he knows it.</p><p>The Soldier knows that man on the bridge. <em>But I knew him.</em>  He doesn’t know why, or how, or from where, but he knows him. Blond hair, blue eyes… <em>Bucky</em>, the man had said. Does the Soldier know Bucky? Is the man Bucky? No, but the Soldier knows Bucky, and the Soldier knows the man.</p><p>The Soldier doesn’t know what he knows, but he knows he knows it.</p><p>The Soldierknows words. He knows <em>punk </em>and <em>jerk </em>and <em>stupid</em>. Always stupid. People say them, people on missions, and… and the doctors, but the Soldier remembers them… different. Kind? Not kind. Nothing is kind. …Different.</p><p>The Soldier doesn’t know what he knows, but he knows he knows it.</p><p>The Soldier knows to stop sometimes. He knows to look around. He was taught to do this, trained to do this, but sometimes it’s different. He only stops in front of alleyways, and he looks inside. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he knows he wants to find it. He also knows he is immediately supposed to report back after a mission, but he doesn’t, not when passing by alleyways. He still stops. He still looks, but he doesn’t know for what.</p><p>The Soldier doesn’t know what he knows, but he knows he knows it.</p><p>The Soldier knows he’s not supposed to know, but he does. He doesn’t know where it comes from. He doesn’t know what it means, but he knows. He knows flying cars and circular shields, a woman named Peggy and one named Dolores, 32557038. He knows quotes. <em>Don’t do anything stupid until I get back</em> and <em>I’m with you until the end of the line</em>. He knows a laugh. It’s not his. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but he does. It’s not his, but he smiles anyway. He wonders how he knows it. He wonders whose laugh it is. He wonders when he heard it last, and if he’ll ever hear it again.</p><p>The Soldier doesn’t know what he knows, but he knows he knows it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Bucky: existence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky Barnes was there.</p><p>He was there.</p><p>He was in his body.</p><p>He was in his mind.</p><p>He existed.</p><p>He just didn’t know how much.</p><p>He had to be in there. He <em>felt</em> real. He felt like he existed, but he didn’t know if he did, not for sure.</p><p>They called him a ghost story.</p><p><em>Ghost story</em>. He had heard the words more than a few times, always said with glee, with a proud smile. Sometimes accompanied by an affectionate pat on the head, or the shoulder (the metal one, always the metal one). It was a good thing, ghost story- so why didn’t it feel like it?</p><p>Ghost wasn’t real. But <em>he</em> was real.</p><p>… Except for the times he wasn’t.</p><p>Sometimes he… wasn’t in control. Sometimes he did things he didn’t want to. He tried to say no. He tried to fight them. They made it happen anyway.</p><p>He wasn’t human. He wasn’t ghost, either, and he also wasn’t in control - so what did that make him?</p><p>Sometimes… happy. Yes, happy. Sometimes… blond hair. Round shield. Red, white, blue. Happy, happy, happy.</p><p>Happy, not for long.</p><p>Because he woke up when he didn’t know he was sleeping. Voices pierced through his thoughts when he didn’t hear anyone speaking.</p><p>He was never happy for long.</p><p>He wasn’t human. He wasn’t ghost. He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t happy.</p><p>So what was he?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Bucky and Penny: vulnerability</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Penny was trudging back up to her room after getting a midnight glass of water when she heard a disturbance emitting from the doorway she had just passed.</p><p>She took a slow step back and peeked through the open door.</p><p>It was Bucky’s room.</p><p>The man himself was curled up tightly in the centre of his bed, clutching the sheets tightly to his chest. His face was contorted in pain and he was soaked in sweat, occasionally letting out a groan and curling in tighter.</p><p>Penny couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.</p><p>She pushed the door open and hurried to Bucky’s bedside, taking a moment to just hover her hands over him, unsure of where to begin.</p><p>When his cries grew worse, she couldn’t wait any longer.</p><p>“Bucky,” she hissed, but the man didn’t react. She tried to roll him from his side to his back, to unclench his hands from the blankets held tight to his chest, to no avail.</p><p>Penny could see his knuckles growing white.</p><p>She perched lightly on the edge of his mattress. She could use her enhanced strength to wake him, but he would probably wake violently, and at that point Penny wasn’t sure which would do more damage.</p><p>Instead, she rested one hand atop his head and began to flex and relax her fingers, like a massage, while running her other hand gently along his shoulder. She hummed a tune under her breath, nothing she’d ever heard before, but notes that sounded soothing together, taking inspiration from all those times Tony would help her through her own nightmares. Soon, Bucky’s cries began to subside. His muscles seemed to relax.</p><p>Penny was lucky she had caught him on one of the more tame nights.</p><p>When Bucky grew completely slack, lying on his back with his limbs spread out, Penny slowly retracted her hands and began to stand from the bed, when she heard his voice.</p><p>“Penny?”</p><p>She turned slightly, offering him a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”</p><p>“Probably better that you did.” Bucky groaned as he moved to sit upright, lifting his hands to his head. “How’d you do that?”</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“Wake me up without me becoming, uh… violent.” <em>The Winter Soldier</em>. Penny had heard stories of Bucky waking suddenly and throwing Steve across the room, kicking Sam into the wall. Somehow, when she saw Bucky struggling in his sleep, those stories had lost their importance.</p><p>“You didn’t seem to be having a violent dream. You just seemed… <em>hurt</em>.”</p><p>Bucky nodded once, letting his head rest back against the headboard. He hadn’t dismissed her yet, and she felt there was more to say.</p><p>“What was the dream about?”</p><p>Bucky looked up at her for a moment, analyzing. Finally, he sighed, moving to one end of the bed and patting the other. Penny perched lightly on the edge of the mattress once more.</p><p>“What do you know about my past?”</p><p>“HYDRA made you into the Winter Soldier, an assassin.”</p><p>Bucky was looking away from her, to the window at the opposite end of the room. “Do you know how they did it?” Penny wordlessly shook her head.</p><p>Bucky hesitated a moment, silent, before continuing. “They had me in this cell. Concrete. No windows. When they needed to train me, they dragged me to a <em>larger </em>cell. People with guns on all sides. If I messed up, beaten. Tased.”</p><p>He took a shaky breath, looking down. Penny gnawed on her lower lip, looking at the wall straight ahead. She wasn’t sure if he would want her to be analyzing every aspect of his weaker state.</p><p>“When they needed me to go on missions, they would put me in this….” He took a shaky breath. “Chair. Strapped me down, with, um, these electric devices… I don’t even know what they were. But I sat there, and everything hurt, until it… <em>didn’t</em>.” His voice grew quiet as he looked up. Penny met his eyes and saw that they were glistening.</p><p>“The next thing I’d be aware to feel was the cell. And then, it would start all over again.”</p><p>Penny looked down, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Yeah, well.” Bucky shrugged. “We all have stories, right?”</p><p>“Most of our stories don’t start with World War II and end after 70 years of-” She cut herself off, but Bucky knew the word that was coming. <em>Torture</em>. He smiled faintly at her supportive attitude, but soon returned his gaze to the window, and the moment was gone.</p><p>“Thank you for waking me,” he said quietly, and Penny guessed that was the most of a dismissal she would ever get.</p><p>She stood from the bed and crept back to her own room, but not without a glance back to the man, sitting upright against the headboard, gazing longingly out the window - both for something that might have been, and something that should never have existed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sam, Bucky, and Peter: soul stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter was confused.</p><p>Everywhere he looked, it was just… orange.</p><p>Orange sky.</p><p>Orange dust.</p><p>Orange sand.</p><p>Orange.</p><p>Orange.</p><p>Orang-</p><p>Person.</p><p>Person?</p><p>
  <em>The Falcon.</em>
</p><p>He had just… <em>appeared</em> there. At least, he wasn’t there the last time Peter circled around, and- and the more he searched, the more people were appearing, everywhere he looked. The girl with the antennae. The one with the red hands. The Winter Soldier.</p><p>Peter stumbled over to the Falcon first, skin tingling with something he couldn’t quite identify - just the feeling of <em>wrong, wrong, wrong</em>.</p><p>“Mr. Falcon, Sir?” he panted, eyes searching the seemingly endless space as more people appeared. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. Some were young, others, old. Some were dressed in superhero gear, but most were… civilians. Average people.</p><p>Innocent people.</p><p>The Falcon turned and looked down at Peter. His eyes widened as he looked over the red-and-blue suit, and the young kid wearng it. Peter waved sheepishly. “Hi. I’m Peter. Parker. I’m, uh, sorry for attacking you before, and webbing you up, and all that. Mr. Stark told me to, and, y'know, can’t disappoint Mr. Stark.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as the Falcon’s eyes continued to search around them, worry lines etching their way onto his forehead. “Do you, uh… happen to know where he is? Mr. Stark, I mean.”</p><p>The Falcon looked down at him, and his eyes looked… sad.</p><p>“Call me Sam,” he said softly, and he looked up as another man - the Winter Soldier - came to join them… and Sam didn’t answer his question.</p><p>“Bucky.”</p><p>“Sam,” the new man greeted, barely sparing a glance down to Peter. “What happened?”</p><p>Sam sunk to the ground, looking lost. As his eyes searched, as his shoulders slumped, he said two words.</p><p>“We lost.”</p><p>Sounds, voices, were beginning to arise from around them. People screaming, panicked, confused, searching for their loved ones. Those they trusted. Those who trusted them.</p><p>“Who?” Peter asked, dreading the answer. “Who…. Where are we? What happened?”</p><p>The new man - Bucky - turned to him, eyes sad.</p><p>“What’s your name, kid? How old are you?”</p><p>“Peter Parker.” Peter held out his hand to shake. “I’m sixteen.”</p><p>Bucky reached out to shake his hand- then froze.</p><p>“<em>Sixteen?</em>” He cursed. “So at- at the airport, you were… <em>fifteen? </em>Tony brought you into battle when you were <em>fifteen</em>, and I-”</p><p>“It’s not <em>Tony’s </em>fault. And I beat you, didn’t I?”</p><p>Bucky’s mouth hung open, and Sam chuckled from the ground, but Peter couldn’t join in.</p><p>“So what happened?”</p><p>Bucky sighed. “Thanos… won. I’m not sure what-”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Bucky froze. Stared at Peter blankly. “Do you know… <em>anything </em>about this fight?”</p><p>Peter shrugged. “I was just on a field trip to the MoMA,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling insecure. “I saw, I dunno, a flying donut. I had to help Mr. Stark. He told me to go home. I guess I should’ve, actually….” Peter chuckled humourlessly. Yeah, he really should’ve stayed on the bus. “Then we were on this other planet, I don’t know, and there were other people, and Dr. Strange, and this purple dude showed up, and Mr. Stark asked me to get his gauntlet off but I couldn’t and….” Peter stopped suddenly. “I can’t remember.”</p><p>Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam pulled himself to his feet, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and ducked his head to look Peter in the eyes.</p><p>“That big purple dude? His name is Thanos. He wanted to wipe out… half of the population. Could do it with a snap of his fingers in that gauntlet you saw. That’s why Stark wanted it off.”</p><p>Peter froze, and his eyes widened.</p><p>“<em>I </em>could’ve stopped this?”</p><p>Sam stepped forward hastily, holding his hands out in front of him. “No. No, Peter, it’s not your fault at all, alright? We all fought as hard as we could-”</p><p>“But I was right <em>there</em>,” Peter argued, eyes drifting around to all the panicking people, all the people he could’ve saved. All the people that Mr. Stark <em>trusted </em>him to save.</p><p>“Hey.” Sam put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “You were brave enough to even be there in the first place. You <em>tried</em>. That’s all any of us could’ve done, everything we could’ve asked for.”</p><p>Tears began to sting the back of Peter’s eyes as reality began to crush down on him. He didn’t remember much after the gauntlet was wrenched from his grip and he got backhanded across the orange planet. Actually, he didn’t remember anything at all. He was fighting, and suddenly he was <em>here</em>, in this strange place that seemed to go on and on forever. He had failed Mr. Stark. He had failed the <em>world</em>. He could’ve saved all these people. He could’ve saved….</p><p>Half of the population.</p><p>
  <em>Half of the population.</em>
</p><p>They were dead, or <em>whatever</em> they were, and Peter could’ve stopped it and he did <em>nothing</em>- and May, and Ned, and MJ. Mr. Stark. They could all be here. <em>All </em>of them. They could all be <em>dead </em>because of Peter, and he had failed Mr. Stark, he had failed, failed, <em>failed-</em></p><p>They were calling his name, Sam and Bucky. He knew they were. Vaguely, he heard them, calling him, grabbing his shoulders, <em>yelling </em>at him to wake up, calm down.</p><p>Everyone was yelling at him.</p><p>
  <em>I just wanted to be like you!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I wanted you to be better.</em>
</p><p>So this was <em>better</em>. Mr. Stark was never saying <em>Better than me.</em> He was saying, <em>Better than yourself.</em> He was saying, <em>If you want to be like me, kid, then you’ve got a lot of work to do.</em></p><p>Peter had… <em>failed.</em> One job, and he failed.</p><p>And now, he didn’t know if he would ever get that chance again.</p><p>Suddenly, everything came to a grinding halt, and Peter was pulled from his quickly-spiraling thoughts. Sam and Bucky stopped talking. The civilians stopped moving. Even Peter’s thoughts calmed down, and he refocused his attention on Sam and Bucky in front of him, who were looking over his head. Peter turned slowly… and came face to face with Doctor Strange.</p><p>“It’s been five years,” he greeted solemnly. “We need your help.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Sam and Penny: protection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam really didn’t want to team up with Penny on their newest mission, he had made that clear, but the Avengers had decided on teams based on each of their skill sets, and, well, he had gotten the short end of the stick. Literally. The girl was tiny.</p><p>She was difficult to watch, too, always running off when she thought she had a plan (when really it was half an idea), and… well, sometimes it worked, but mostly she just got herself into a whole heap of trouble, leaving the rest of the team to clean up her mess.</p><p>Plus, he really didn’t want a fifteen-year-old girl’s safety on his conscience - but since when did the universe care about what he wanted or didn’t want?</p><p>The bullet was meant for him. It was heading straight in his direction. There was no time to move, and it surely would’ve reached his target.</p><p>And then Penny leaped in front of him.</p><p>One moment he saw a flash of red and blue and the next he was on the ground,  a scream piercing his ears. He rolled to his feet almost immediately and fired a shot in the direction the bullet had come from, before sprinting to the unnaturally brightly-coloured heap on the pavement.</p><p>“Penny?” he called worriedly as he fell to his knees beside her, heart beating loudly in his ears. “C’mon, Spider-Woman, on your feet.”</p><p>“What? Pen?” Tony shouted worriedly over the comms. Sam tried to block him out as Penny groaned from where she lie, her back to him. “What’s going on, Sam?”</p><p>Sam placed two gentle hands on Penny’s side and slowly eased her onto her back. She hissed from the pain, her body tensing - and her left side was coated in blood. Sam cursed as his hands immediately went to put pressure, subtly trying to find the source of the blood, the wound.</p><p>“What was that, Wilson?” Tony shouted, and Sam heard repulsors firing on the other side of the line. “If you don’t start talking-”</p><p>“Hold on for a second, Tony,” he yelled back, feeling gently along Penny’s side, until he felt a tender spot and heard her whimper. “I’m so sorry, Penny,” he whispered, but at the same time he sighed in relief. “Flesh wound,” he spoke into the comm. “I’ll get her back to the jet, you finish up.”</p><p>“Keep her safe,” was all Tony said, his voice overtly relieved, before the comm went dead.</p><p>“Alright, Pen,” he said gently, taking his hands off her wound for a moment (ignoring the young girl’s blood coating them) to rip a piece of cloth from his shirt. He pressed it back to the wound, and Penny whimpered in pain.</p><p>“I know, I know,” he soothed, securing the cloth before moving his hands - one snaking beneath her knees, the other under her neck. “I’m going to lift you, alright? It’s going to hurt, but we’re going to get you to the jet. You’ll be okay.” <em>I promise</em>. Penny hummed her approval, and Sam eased her off the ground.</p><p>Penny groaned, but it was muffled. She was trying to hide the pain.</p><p>“Don’t bite your tongue,” Sam chastised her gently as he jogged toward the jet, keeping his eye out for threats while trying not to move the girl too much. “You’ll cause damage.”</p><p>“Hurts,” she gasped, her voice slightly muffled by the mask.</p><p>“I know. I’m sorry, hon. Just… breathe. Breathe,” he repeated, for himself as much as her. “You’ll be okay.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Pen,” he said quietly as they neared the jet. “Why’d you do that?”</p><p>“Would’ve hit your heart,” she gasped out. “Better me than you.”</p><p>“No. <em>Shit</em>, Pen, you got a death wish or something?”</p><p>“What, you care about me?”</p><p>The words were said with a twinge of humour, but Sam heard the hurt beneath them.</p><p>“‘Course I do,” he muttered as he carried her through the back of the jet.</p><p>“’M not a kid.” Penny whimpered slightly as Sam set her down on the medical table, already set out for emergencies. He pretended he didn’t hear it and continued talking.</p><p>“You’re not,” he said in a tone that was better suited for a day-to-day conversation than one where a teenage girl was bleeding out. “But that doesn’t mean you can just go around dying whenever you’d like.”</p><p>“You don’t care.”</p><p>Sam faltered in his step, but he forced himself to keep moving, grabbing the scissors, tweezers, anti-septic wipes, and some gauze.</p><p>“Don’t say that.”</p><p>Penny readjusted herself and Sam saw her grimace slightly as he returned to the table.</p><p>“‘S true. The way you argued when you learned you were paired with me? You don’t- don’t look at me all that kindly, either.”</p><p>Sam started on cleaning the blood and sterilizing the wound. Penny winced, but she didn’t make a noise. She was a trooper.</p><p>“I think of you like my little sister, Pen. I just don’t want to see you in battle,” he said quietly. He felt Penny’s eyes on him, but he remained focused on the wound. “Well, good news is, there’s an exit wound. Lot of blood, but no bullet to pull out.” He tossed the tweezers aside dramatically and heard them land somewhere on the other side of the jet. Penny laughed weakly. Sam counted that as a win.</p><p>“Sam?” she said as he started to wrap the wound atop her suit. They would do a cleaner job when they got back to the tower.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>A pause. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Any time, Pen.” He finished wrapping it and smiled down at her gently. “Any time.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Sam and Peter: reliance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was unlucky enough that Peter got injured on patrol, and even worse that his comms had gotten disabled, so he couldn’t call for Tony.</p><p>Of course, he had to have been thrown against Sam’s front window, too.</p><p>Sam threw open the front door just in time to see Peter fire a web, trapping this week’s bank robber to the ground, before he turned around and fixed Sam with a smile that probably bordered on manic.</p><p>“Oh. Hi, Sam.”</p><p>Then, Peter passed out on Sam’s front porch.</p><p>—</p><p>Peter woke up on, what he assumed to be, Sam’s couch, though he had never been in Sam’s house before. He moved to push himself to a sitting position, but sucked in a sharp breath when pain erupted in his side, and he slumped back onto the cushions.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s a bullet wound, bud.” Peter turned just enough to see Sam leaning against the opposite wall, wiping his hands with a towel. “Don’t worry, I took care of it. Fished out the bullet, wrapped it in gauze. You’ll heal in no time.”</p><p>Peter sagged back against the couch. “Thanks.”</p><p>Sam turned off the lights as he moved an armchair to sit beside Peter’s head - Peter, who sighed in relief once the room became dim.</p><p>“Here,” Sam said quietly, moving something into Peter’s hand - a glass of water, Peter realized, lifting the straw to his lips.</p><p>“How long was I out?”</p><p>Sam leaned back in his chair, watching Peter closely. “Enough time for me to report that Spider-Man had webbed up a felon just outside my house before webbing away. They took care of him.”</p><p>Peter nodded and settled back against the couch.</p><p>“I have to ask - how often do you go flying into the front window of a civilian’s house, almost giving them a heart attack?”</p><p>“I only do it to force people to spend time with me who rather wouldn’t,” Peter joked, but it fell flat when he coughed suddenly. Sam helped him sit up and rubbed his back, soothing him.</p><p>“That’s not true,” he said quietly, once Peter’s coughs had subsided.</p><p>Peter smiled sideways at him. “You don’t have to say that. I get it. I see how you avoid eye contact with me, how you never speak immediately after me in a group conversation. You even argued against me joining you on that mission last week.”</p><p>Sam sighed, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not what you think. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, kid. You’re so young, and when we’re young, we do crazy things to try to impress those around us and to gain more responsibility. Honestly, I’ve seen you do it, and it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, with how much you try to prove yourself to Tony - but I don’t want to be the one to give you any more chances.”</p><p>“But I’m ready to be out on the field-”</p><p>Sam laughed as Peter erupted into another fit of coughs.</p><p>“No, you’re not, pipsqueak,” he answered, rubbing Peter’s back gently. “But it’s not just that. Honestly, I worry about you, kid. I don’t want to see you hurt, and, I’ll admit, when I opened the front door and saw you bleeding out on my porch… I panicked. I was scared.” Sam shrugged, looking down. “You’re too young for this.”</p><p>Peter frowned, but didn’t argue. He didn’t think he was in the position to, just yet.</p><p>Sam cleared his throat and stood, applying gentle pressure to Peter’s shoulders to help him lay back down.</p><p>“Get some rest. We’ll… we’ll deal with the rest in the morning.” He began to turn away.</p><p>“Sam?” Sam looked back over his shoulder. Peter smiled. “Thank you.”</p><p>Sam returned it. “No problem, pipsqueak.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Steve: the serum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve was… well, he didn’t know what. All he knew was that he wasn’t human.</p><p>It had taken him a while to realize. He knew the serum had enhanced him; he knew he was faster, stronger, had improved senses.</p><p>He didn’t know just how much it had changed.</p><p>He moved… <em>impossibly</em> fast, running by the Avengers in a blur, leaving them in the dust, without even breaking a sweat. A light jog to him could be a marathon to them. He had never noticed, and no one had bothered to tell him.</p><p>If he wasn’t careful, if he moved without thinking, those around him… flinched. They’d jump. They described Steve as a ghost, being there one second and gone the next. Nothing but a breeze as he passed them, and he had never realized.</p><p>He thought he was just fast.</p><p>His strength was incomparable. He had to constantly focus on it, on monitoring it, on regulating it. Otherwise, he’d bruise Sam when he pat him on the shoulder. The forks he ate with would bend in his hand.</p><p>One time, he accidentally threw Peter across the gym. They had been sparring and Steve had done what he thought was, what <em>used</em> to be, a simple, self-defensive shove. It didn’t matter how persistently Peter assured Steve he was okay afterward. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t physically injured. What mattered was that, when Steve rushed forward to help, Peter stepped back. He <em>flinched</em>. Peter denied ever having done it, but the crack in the drywall from when Peter’s head flew into it still remains. Steve was rapidly realizing the dangers he posed, simply by being alive.</p><p>Steve thought he was just strong.</p><p>His senses were heightened. Steve always thought he was a soldier, and so he didn’t even consider joining surveillance with Natasha. He knew she had an impressive skillset, and he didn’t believe he could compete with her, which was why he was so surprised when she didn’t hear the footsteps of a man, of their target, approaching, clearly armed with some sort of extreme gun. It sounded like he was just outside their surveillance tent, which was why he was shocked when Natasha didn’t give him the okay to attack- and even more surprised when the target <em>actually</em> reached them no less than 30 minutes later.</p><p>Before the serum, Steve didn’t believe in the sixth sense. He thought anyone who did was making it up- which was clearly proven to be false. How was he able to read thoughts otherwise? He wasn’t reading them like a book, per se - he was more, extremely receptive to emotion. The specific kind of sad that represented Rhodes mourning the loss of the unaided movement of his legs. The self-loathing Tony felt whenever… well, all the time, really. Once the team realized, once Steve had become too direct in his askings of <em>are you okay</em> and <em>what’s on your mind</em>, they avoided him. They wouldn’t stay in the same room as him for longer than absolutely necessary, and they avoided eye contact on these such occasions.</p><p>Steve thought he was just empathetic.</p><p>The serum was more a curse than a blessing. It did more harm than good. He accepted it to save his country, and in doing so, he might’ve just destroyed himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Steve and Penny: the cast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I thought super soldiers couldn’t get hurt,” Tony said as he sat on the couch beside Steve, Steve’s casted ankle resting on his lap.</p><p>“No, we get hurt all the time. We just heal-”</p><p>“Faster than us normies. I know, Captain Spangles, I was teasing you.”</p><p>Steve sighed and stared at Penny, who was sitting on the ground at their feet, with his eyes wide as if to say, <em>see what I have to deal with? </em>Penny giggled.</p><p>“Well, a positive side to this is now you get to experience something that happens to <em>us normies </em>all the time,” she contributed with a grin. “We get to sign your cast.”</p><p>Steve shrugged, unsure. “I dunno, Pen. It’s only going to be on for another day or two-”</p><p>“And everyone who’s ever gotten a cast in their life resents you for that fact. I mean, you jumped out of a plane, and the worst you get is an ankle cast for three days? You know a normal person would’ve died. Meanwhile, you’ll be back to normal by the weekend.”</p><p>“Hey, you’re not so normal yourself, Spider-Woman.”</p><p>Penny rolled her eyes in an extravagant display of disgust. Steve smiled, amused. “But, c’mon, you gotta let us sign it. It’s tradition.”</p><p>Steve looked over at Tony, and the man had somehow managed to have been giving him the same puppy dog eyes at Penny. He sighed, conceding. “Fine,” he answered at last. Penny cheered as she ran to her backpack situated in the corner of the room and grabbed her pencil case, beginning to rummage through it for sharpies and markers. “But don’t go too crazy. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”</p><p>Penny grinned as she returned with the markers - but her smile was a little odd. Steve shrugged it off and watched as she chose a red marker for herself and offered the rest to Tony (he chose blue), and they began scribbling along his cast.</p><p>Five minutes later and they were still writing. Tony had signed his name in big, swooping, official cursive, and had proceeded to draw small, blue hearts and arc reactors all over. Though, he was a little unnerved by Penny and the fact that she was writing on the bottom of his cast, as she had been non-stop for the last few minutes.</p><p>“Honey, what’re you drawing? You know I can’t see it down there, and isn’t the point to bring me joy or whatnot?”</p><p>“Eh, you’ve got enough joy as it is,” she teased, not taking her eyes off her artwork. “An ankle injury means your foot’s going to be propped up a lot, which means people will be looking at your sole. It’s gotta look good.”</p><p>Tony leaned over and stole a glance at her work, and he snorted as he straightened back up. Steve’s worry just grew.</p><p>“What? What did she draw?”</p><p>“You’ll only have the cast for another day or two,” he mocked, and Steve sighed as he leaned back on the stack of pillows Tony had set up for him.</p><p>It couldn’t be <em>too </em>bad, right?</p><p>The fact that Sam was sniggering the moment he set eyes on the cast the next day disproved Steve’s guess - and, of course, the noise brought Wanda over, then Natasha, then Rhodes, and as Steve refrained from rolling his eyes in an unamused manor, the group stood, just looking at the cast. He didn’t say a word as Rhodes took out his phone and snapped a picture. He knew his glare was in clear view in the background, but he didn’t care. He just wanted an answer.</p><p>“Can someone break his ankle again so he can keep the cast?” Wanda teased.</p><p>“What did she draw?” he demanded, but his voice was more bored than angry.</p><p>“Aw, did the old man miss his nap?” Natasha mocked, and Steve rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Hey, Cap,” Rhodes contributed. “Don’t listen to them. It’s good you’re finally admitting it.”</p><p>“Admitting <em>what?</em>”</p><p>“That Spider-Woman’s the best Avenger, of course,” Sam finally answered. Steve smiled as he rolled his eyes playfully and breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>“That girl,” he muttered under his breath. By the way everyone was acting, he honestly imagined something much worse.</p><p>Just then, as if on cue, Penny entered the room, looking nonchalant - but by the way her eyes were averted from Steve and she was clearly biting back a smile, Steve guessed she knew <em>exactly </em>what was going on.</p><p>“Penny.” The girl turned toward him with a way-too-innocent smile.</p><p>“Yes, Captain?”</p><p>Sam snickered.</p><p>“You know this isn’t funny.” Penny’s face began to fall, lips turning downward and eyes dropping. Steve softened his voice. “It isn’t funny because it’s <em>true</em>.”</p><p>A smile broke out across Penny’s face, and the group laughed.</p><p>“Alright, so where does Black Widow fall on this list?” Natasha asked.</p><p>“Below War Machine,” Rhodes said, and Wanda clicked her tongue.</p><p>“Scarlet Witch tops you all.”</p><p>“Except for Spider-Woman. She takes top spot,” Sam contributed, and Wanda nodded in agreeance. “But, of course, we’re all above Captain America. Clearly.”</p><p>“Clearly,” Steve responded with a chuckle - but the second the cast was off, he knew this conversation would resume in the training room, and they wouldn’t be laughing then.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Steve and Peter: nicknames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter had received a number of nicknames throughout the years. There were the basic ones, like Pete or Parker; then, there were the ones made to hurt. Penis was one example. More weren’t really necessary.</p><p>More recent were the ones Peter was proud of: Spider-Man, and variations. Tony liked Spider-Baby. Civilians preferred “that spider guy.”</p><p>Peter wasn’t phased by nicknames. He didn’t condone any, or argue against others - they were just <em>names</em>.</p><p>And then, Steve Rogers called him “Queens.”</p><p>It was cool, sure. Peter spent longer thinking about it, about how much he liked it. <em>Queens</em>. That was his city. He <em>protected </em>his city.</p><p>They were fighting around the Avengers tower when Steve referred to Peter as <em>Queens</em>. Apparently, nearby civilians had heard it.</p><p>It was trending on Twitter that evening.</p><p><em>#TheQueensSpider </em>was the most-used hashtag across New York for the next 36 hours.</p><p>Whenever Peter went out on patrol, he found himself being called <em>Queens </em>more often than <em>Spider-Man</em>. When he told Steve about it, the man just shrugged.</p><p>Whatever. Peter kind of liked the nickname, anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Steve and Peter: potential</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve didn’t like Spider-Man.</p><p>He had no issue with Peter Parker, but Spider-Man was young; he was brash and careless, and he posed a liability, to civilians, to the team, and to <em>himself.</em></p><p>Steve had opposed Spider-Man many times. He had spoken quietly to Tony about bringing him out on missions, about how it was dangerous to subject Peter to that, about how he’d do more harm than good, but Tony never listened. He said he trusted Peter, and that was sweet; really, Steve trusted him, too. Steve trusted him to help walk an old lady home, or to stop a grocery store robbery.</p><p>He did <em>not </em>trust Peter to help the Avengers raid a HYDRA base.</p><p>Apparently, his objections meant nothing; apparently, they meant <em>less </em>than nothing. It was bad enough Peter had come on the mission; now he was partnered with Steve? Now they had to <em>patrol </em>together?</p><p>Steve liked being in the thick of the action. He liked to lead his team, to be at the centre of it all in case things went sideways. Of course, that’s the last thing he wanted for Peter, so it was a good thing Tony had given Peter the role of securing the perimeter. Unfortunately, that meant Steve had to join him.</p><p>The raid seemed to be uneventful, which Steve actually preferred if Peter was to be involved. Maybe this was one of the tamer bases, abandoned, or with a couple of poorly-trained stragglers-</p><p>An explosion.</p><p>Steve just <em>had</em> to go and open his mouth.</p><p>He tried to connect through his comms, but all he got was the garbled words of “<em>ambush</em>” and “<em>weapons</em>”.</p><p>He cursed under his breath, smoke billowing from the building as he tried to connect through his comms, to no avail. “Peter,” he called, “we might have to- Peter?”</p><p>But Peter wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even there.</p><p>Spider-Man was sprinting toward the building.</p><p>Steve strung together a line of really creative, decades-old curse words as he sprinted toward the red-clad figure, who had disappeared into the building.</p><p>Smoke was there to greet Steve when he stepped inside. “Peter?” he called, coughing, as he hurried through. “Does anybody read me?” he yelled through his comms as he heard gunshots echo.</p><p>No response.</p><p>“Does anybody rea-”</p><p>Rumbling. Shifting. Cracking.</p><p>Falling.</p><p>The ceiling was collapsing.</p><p>Steve had to make a split second decision - hurry through the building, or escape out? He had to find and help his team, but what if the building crushed him-</p><p>Steve was shoved out of the way before he could decide, pushed outside just as a large chunk of concrete fell where he had just been standing.</p><p>Steve took a moment to thank his lucky stars - but then, who had pushed him out of the way….</p><p>“Peter?” Steve called, panicked, as he attempted to peer through the smoke. He cursed as he tried his comms again. “Building collapsed,” he gasped as he tried to scan the wreckage. “Does anyone copy? Peter’s under there-”</p><p>Just as he spoke, there was a shift in the rubble. Crumbling, scattering rocks. And then, a hand. A red hand.</p><p>The Iron Man gauntlet.</p><p>Tony shoved his way to the surface, mask retracting as he gasped. He pulled himself above the wreckage and Steve rushed forward to help - and then Tony reached out, and pulled another figure from the rubble.</p><p>Spider-Man.</p><p>Peter Parker.</p><p>Peter struggled to the surface with the help of Tony’s steadying arm, hunched over and gasping as the rest of the team made their way around the corner - Natasha, Sam, and Rhodes sprinting into view.</p><p>“Building secure,” Natasha managed to say, “… for the most part.”</p><p>They watched Tony and Peter hobble towards them, Peter half-collapsed against a stumbling Tony. Both their masks were off, and they looked <em>awful</em>- bruised, covered in dirt, skin awfully pink in some places and horrifically gray in others.</p><p>Tony came to a stop, breathing heavily. Peter mumbled something incoherent.</p><p>Steve didn’t care.</p><p>He was mad. He was <em>livid</em>.</p><p>Steve stepped forward, hands fixed on his hips. He was angry, but also <em>terrified</em>. <em>He</em> had been the one in charge of Peter. If anything had happened, it would’ve been Steve’s fault.</p><p>“Why did you leave your post?” he demanded. “Why did you charge into a collapsing building? Why did you ignore my orders-”</p><p>“Not the first time,” Peter mumbled. Steve faltered.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Under… collapsing building. Happened before.”</p><p>Steve froze. “<em>What</em>?” But Peter didn’t seem willing, or able, to say more.</p><p>Tony pressed a hand to Steve’s chest. “Lay off him, alright?”</p><p>“And why should I? We can’t go pulling him from rubble every time he disobeys orders-”</p><p>“He saved <em>me</em>, okay?” Tony shouted. Peter groaned at the noise, burying his head against Tony’s shoulder. Tony hugged him closer, quieting his voice. “He saved me. I was trapped under there. The suit was compromised. He pulled me out.”</p><p>“Saved your life,” Peter mumbled.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tony chuckled, “you did-”</p><p>“No. Steve… pushed y… out of- way.”</p><p>Steve’s eyes widened. “That was <em>you</em>.” Peter nodded. “Shit, kid, I… uh, thank you.” Peter gave a sideways smile.</p><p>“I would, l-love to keep- lovey-dovey, but I g'tta- sleep. Pass… out.”</p><p>His eyes fluttered closed and he collapsed against Tony’s shoulder.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve sighed, examining the wreckage. “He deserves to rest.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Steve and Penny: the Raft</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve marched through the Raft, passing dozens of empty cells - had the occupants escaped? Been released?</p><p>Or something worse?</p><p>He couldn’t think about that right now. The shouts and echoing gunshots behind him kept him focused. He was only searching for one occupant of these cells, Spider-Woman.</p><p>Penny Parker.</p><p>Ross had taken her from right under Tony’s nose, grabbed her in the Stark Tower lobby. There were too many of them. Tony couldn’t fight back on his own - oh, but he tried, the reason why he was waiting on the jet doing surveillance as the team attacked.</p><p>Rhodes and Sam made up the initial strike team, in their suits. Natasha and Bucky followed afterward, fighting in the main hall and making their way outwards.</p><p>It was Steve’s job - Tony had specifically requested it from him - that he search only for Penny, and maybe free any other occupants he saw along the way.</p><p>He found none.</p><p>It was like the entire prison had been created to house her.</p><p>She had been gone for a week as Tony assembled the team. They had agreed to help - they loved Spider-Woman; they just didn’t know Penny Parker, yet. Tony seemed to be too much in a panic to care about her secret identity. He told them all instantly - her name, her age, what she looked like, her family. At one point the information stopped being about the rescue mission, becoming Tony, lost in his thoughts and guilt-tripping himself beyond belief.</p><p>The thought of that broken man spurred Steve forward.</p><p>He raced through the hallways and found himself in a large, open room, cells with glass doors lining it all around. Only one was occupied, the one directly across from the entrance way.</p><p>A girl sat inside, looking tinier than she ever had in the suit, long, matted hair hanging over her pale face as she curled in on herself.</p><p>She looked up.</p><p>She caught sight of Steve.</p><p>She began trembling.</p><p>Steve froze, barely managing to respond to Tony’s panicked, “<em>Do you see her? Steve, do you have eyes on Penny?”</em></p><p>Steve brought a shaky hand to his earpiece. “I found her,” he said quietly. “No visible injuries.”</p><p>There was shuffling on the other end, sighs of relief and quiet sobs. “<em>Bring her back. Now</em>.”</p><p>Steve looked anxiously back to the cowering girl, trying, but failing, to push herself up to a sitting position on shaking arms. “Making contact now.”</p><p>Steve turned off his comms and hurried to the front of Penny’s cell. She was lying on the floor, following him with her eyes. Steve suppressed a shiver as he crouched in front of her.</p><p>“Penny? I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you home.” Penny said nothing, but Steve noticed a slight tremble in her fingers.  “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Tony’s here, too. He’s back on the jet. He’s been worried sick, kid, we’ve all been-”</p><p>“Tony,” Penny breathed with a wide smile.</p><p>Steve’s eyes narrowed. That was… a delayed reaction. Not the part of the sentence Penny should’ve been focusing on. Not the way she should’ve reacted-</p><p>Wait.</p><p>
  <em>Tony?</em>
</p><p>Everyone had heard Spider-Woman call him <em>Mr. Stark</em> through the comms on a daily basis.</p><p>“Penny,” Steve said warily, “do you know who I am?”</p><p>Penny’s head lolled against the floor as she gave a loopy smile. “Captain America!”</p><p>“Right. I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”</p><p>Penny’s eyes fluttered closed.</p><p>Steve cursed under his breath as he looked for a way to get the door open. There was a padlock, but he’d need Tony’s help. He’d need to turn on his comms, give Tony video access - but Tony couldn’t see his kid passed out on the floor!</p><p>Steve didn’t have any other option. It was Penny’s safety, or protecting his eardrums from being ruptured.</p><p>He’d choose Penny’s safety any day.</p><p>Steve turned on his comms. “Tony. Come in.”</p><p>“<em>What’s going on? Is she okay?</em>”</p><p>“She’s fine, but I’ll need your help to break into this padlock. Can you connect to video?”</p><p>“<em>On it- is that Penny?</em>” he yelled, and Steve winced.</p><p>“<em>She’s fine. I was just talking to her. She passed out - they must’ve given her something. Help me, Tony</em>.”</p><p>There were a couple of panicked breaths before Tony came around. When he did, his voice was trembling. His words were too fast. He was <em>scared</em>.</p><p>Hell, Steve was, too.</p><p>Tony talked Steve through short-circuiting the padlock. It was slow work, and the gunshots were almost completely faded by the time he was done. His fingers were trembling, and Tony’s voice was hitching.</p><p>And then, the door slid open.</p><p>Steve rushed to Penny’s side, moving quickly to cradle her in his arms. She blinked up at him, grinning lazily.</p><p>“T’ny?”</p><p>“Yeah, kid, I’m taking you to Tony,” Steve said, swallowing thickly as he heard sobs from the other end of the line. “I’m taking you home.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Steve and Penny: the Roaring '20s</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Penny stepped out of the elevator, eyes on the textbook in her hands as she tapped her pencil against her chin. “Mr. Stark, could you help me-” She looked up and froze. The man sitting on the couch, sketching on a notepad, was <em>not </em>Mr. Stark, but he gave Penny a smile anyway.</p><p>“Sorry, he’s at a meeting,” Steve informed her, closing his notepad. “He should be back in an hour, but maybe I can help? Unless it’s some kind of science, or-”</p><p>“It’s history.”</p><p>“Oh.” Steve smiled. “Well, in that case, come have a seat.”</p><p>Penny moved to sit beside Steve on the couch, pulling her feet up onto the cushion and resting the textbook atop her knees. Steve leaned in closer to read it, before pulling back with a laugh.</p><p>“<em>That’s </em>the picture they chose?”</p><p>It took Penny a moment to realize what he was referring to - and then, she caught sight of a photo of Captain America in the corner of the page, wearing a felt hat with… <em>wings</em>.</p><p>Penny snorted. “Oh, yeah, they definitely got your good side.”</p><p>Steve smacked Penny lightly upside the head, and she laughed as she righted herself, turning back to the textbook. “Okay, so, we’re currently looking at the Roaring ‘20s - wait, do you even remember that?”</p><p>“I was, maybe, four when things began to get really crazy, so, of course I remember it.”</p><p>“Of course,” Penny repeated, as if it were obvious. <em>Right</em>, she thought suddenly. <em>The serum. Probably enhanced his memory, among other things</em>. “Alright, so, I’m doing a report on flapper girls. How did people react? Not well, I’d assume.”</p><p>“Oh, no, not at all. Women were deciding it was time to step up. Men generally didn’t like that, so, yeah, there was a lot of opposition.”</p><p>“But they got the right to vote.”</p><p>“That, they did,” Steve agreed proudly, and Penny began to take down notes. “They were out in public, smoking, drinking… <em>partying</em>.” Steve smiled fondly at the memory. “They were a sight to behold, all smiling and having fun. There was this girl… Dolores, I think. Bucky’s friend, all nice and conservative. One day, I saw her… she was dancing out on my front lawn!” he laughed, and Penny slowly slid her book off her lap, onto the cushion beside her. She could take notes after. Now, she just wanted to listen.</p><p>“Her hair was cut short - I don’t think I had ever seen hair that short on a woman before - and her dress… Penny, it was <em>sparkling</em>. Hey, should we put some sparkles on your Spider-Woman suit?”</p><p>Penny laughed out loud. “<em>Definitely </em>not.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m talking to Tony about it later.” Steve sighed, leaning back on the couch with a smile. “She was with a couple of her friends, they were doing this- this dance….” Suddenly, Steve’s face lit up, and he turned sharply to Penny. “Have you ever done the Charleston?”</p><p>“The <em>what?</em>”</p><p>“It’s a dance. Here.” He stood, offering his hand to Penny with a wide grin, but Penny just shook her head. “Come on, I’ll teach you. It’s fun.” He waggled his fingers, and Penny sighed good-naturedly, placing her hand in Steve’s and letting him pull her up to her feet.</p><p>“Okay, so, from what I remember….”</p><p>Steve remembered a <em>lot</em>. He spent five minutes just running through every move he could remember, and he moved with a surprising amount of agility. Penny wanted to laugh - this felt something like a father teaching a dance from <em>When I was your age</em>, but she was too busy being <em>impressed</em>.</p><p>Finally, Steve turned to her, his hands out like he was presenting something.</p><p>“So?” he beamed. Penny shook her head fondly.</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” she conceded, and Steve grinned, taking her hands and beginning to guide her through the steps.</p><p>Penny never did finish her report.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. ♪ Steve and Penny: Wild Disguise by Wild Disguise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the first moment Steve met Penny, he was blown away by her.</p><p>She was mature for her age, meeting the foes of Spider-Woman with rational thoughts and coming up with unique and efficient game plans on a whim. She was more than capable of giving Steve orders he was willing to follow, notwithstanding their differences in age, maturity, and experience.</p><p>Later on, he encountered her again in Avengers tower. Even without the mask, she was every bit of the woman Steve had assessed her to be. She was strong and brave and courageous and determined, while still managing to be compassionate and fair with a pure heart.</p><p>Though, he never realized her true potential until they were paired together for an official Avengers mission.</p><p>Her quick decisions saved the team at every turn. The hostages were all freed without a hitch, the perpetrators taken care of without any unnecessary casualties. Steve thought he couldn’t possibly be any more impressed by her.</p><p>And then, she took a bullet for him.</p><p>He hadn’t even seen it coming, probably wouldn’t have known the shot was even fired, except for the fact that he heard the noise, and then Penny’s groan as she fell.</p><p>He knocked out the assailant with a quick flick of the shield before dropping to Penny’s side and assessing the situation. It didn’t seem like anything too bad - at least, it wouldn’t prove to be fatal.</p><p>It would hurt like a bitch, though, and Penny’s muffled groans proved it.</p><p>“I can’t believe you did that,” Steve muttered as he hurried to stop the bleeding.</p><p>“Proved myself,” Penny managed to say, and Steve chuckled nervously.</p><p>“That, you did. Most definitely.”</p><p>“Fought with the big boys.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Steve responded with a grin as he gently lifted her in his arms and began to hurry her back to the jet.</p><p>“Not a liability.”</p><p>Steve’s head shot down to her and he almost stumbled over his own feet, but forced himself to keep going. “No one ever suggested you were, Pen. You’ve been amazing since day one.”</p><p>“My efforts worked.”</p><p>“Your- your <em>efforts?</em>”</p><p>“Can’t be disappointed in me if I take a bullet.”</p><p>The jet came in sight, and Steve heaved a sigh of relief. Penny must be delirious from her injury, right? That had to be it. He just had to get her help.</p><p>“No one was ever <em>disappointed </em>in you.”</p><p>“Good,” she sighed. “Good. Earned my spot.”</p><p>Penny’s head lolled against Steve’s chest, and he picked up the pace.</p><p>“You earned your spot long before we ever knew you, Pen,” he said sadly. “I just hope you can believe it.”</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. ♪ Loki: Take Me to Church by Hozier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Loki knew they could never work. Lady Sif had openly sworn off men, but still, he pursued her.</p><p>She was strong, and brave, and jabbed back at him when he poked fun at her. She was brutally honest and capable and could hold her own. Loki had loved her since the first day he met her, all those centuries ago.</p><p>“Your majesty,” Heimdall had announced. “Presenting Sif and the Warriors-”</p><p>“<em>Lady </em>Sif,” she had corrected, and that had been it. Loki was head over heels.</p><p>She made him want to be better, even when he didn’t believe he was physically capable of it. When Odin issued a challenge between him and Thor with unbalanced opportunities, when Thor inevitably won and was greatly rewarded and Loki, shunned, Lady Sif, just the thought of her, was what kept him going. The only reason why he hadn’t interrupted Thor’s coronation was her righteous face observing the scene from beside the throne.</p><p>And then all that had been destroyed.</p><p>The frost giants attacked. Loki’s skin turned blue. He was grateful to every belief system on Midgard no one saw - but above all, that <em>she</em> didn’t see.</p><p>And then, after the banishment and the Odinsleep and the lies, she challenged him. He was on Odin’s throne, he had everything he could’ve wanted - but still, he felt empty. He didn’t have his Queen beside him.</p><p>Then, she approached, her face a storm cloud as she challenged him, demanded just why he wouldn’t end Thor’s banishment. She was mad. Even more, she was <em>disappointed</em>. She thought it was jealousy. A simple, envious brother. She didn’t understand that Thor was unfit to rule, and - okay, maybe it was years’ worth of resentment building up. She didn’t understand, but her angry glare… it almost made Loki relent, right there. For her.</p><p>And then, he almost killed her.</p><p>Thor was supposed to be the Destroyer’s only target - but not to <em>kill</em>, to harm. Just… keep him away from Asgard from a while. He wasn’t fit to rule.</p><p>Loki didn’t expect Thor to fight back with so much intensity, or Lady Sif and the Warriors Three to be fighting with him, and he definitely didn’t expect the Destroyer’s anger to  increase.</p><p>When he saw Lady Sif charge it, Loki swore his heart stopped beating.</p><p>She survived.</p><p>He died. He lived. He died again, and he lived again.</p><p>And then, he started Ragnarok.</p><p>The action was done to save the peoples of Asgard, not to destroy two of their bravest warriors - but there was nothing to be done. Brunnhilde fell. Lady Sif avenged her. And then, she fell, too.</p><p>Loki only discovered it later when he stumbled over… over her body on the pavement, hair splayed about, face pale, eyes wide and unseeing. He reached down and gently closed them, feeling as though he was moving in slow motion.</p><p>Lady Sif, his one love, was dead.</p><p>Loki wished he had gone with her.</p><p>He had floated to the ship, drifted to safety with all the people he had protected at the expense of the one he truly wanted to, a shell of himself. The world had lost its colour. Sounds were muted. Though he was an immortal being with a physical form that was never strictly necessary, Loki felt too heavy to move.</p><p>And then, after weeks of staring at the passing galaxies outside the ship window, of not allowing himself the nourishment of Asgardian sustenance, Loki was approached by Thor.</p><p>In the stories, he said, those of Norse royal blood never truly died. Once their Asgardian souls were destroyed, stories said they found a mortal host. It may not be true, Lady Sif may not be considered an Asgardian royal, and it may be impossible to locate her - but if he was willing to search, Lady Sif may be on Midgard.</p><p>Loki searched, of course he did, with new purpose. He had to find her. He looked for disturbances in the news, strange occurrences.</p><p>Finally, in a quiet, Canadian town, he found a woman who was declared officially dead… and was revived.</p><p>It was her.</p><p>Lady Sif, in the body of Mrs. Chambers, an elderly woman with cancer. Her physical body was weak and fragile, and her mind was forgetful - she recognized Loki, but forgot their conversations and didn’t answer to Sif - but she was as strong as ever.</p><p>Loki snuck into her hospital room every night after the nurses had done their rounds. Ensuring Asgard’s warriors were safe, he lied, but he sat with her and held conversations until morning. He was honest with her. He spoke. He confessed. He admitted what he would never dare to think previous. She listened… but she always forgot by morning.</p><p>Loki didn’t care. He always returned.</p><p>One night, he snuck into her room.</p><p>Her health was failing.</p><p>It was unsure what happened to reborn Asgardian souls when their mortal hosts passed. Did they have two chances before the end? When the host passed, did they, as well?</p><p>For the first time in a long, long time, Loki felt true fear.</p><p>He couldn’t lose her. But even more, he couldn’t bear to see her go.</p><p>He placed his gift for her, a mirror that would reveal the true Lady Sif’s face when she looked into it, gently between her resting fingers, and he disappeared into the night.</p><p>It was his final gift to her.</p><p>Two days later, Mrs. Chambers passed.</p><p>Loki didn’t know. He refused to visit after he gave her the mirror. He refused to check. He refused to care. Love was for the weak, he decided. He wanted no part in it. He knew they were doomed to fail, after all.</p><p>And then, after weeks of barely holding it together and stiffened backs and tight lips and hardened demeanors and clothes only in black, he found her again.</p><p>A flower, one unlike Loki had ever seen, sprouting from the cracks in the floor of the entryway of the newly-built palace. The flowers were delicate, frail, beautiful, a lovely shade of mahogany, the same colour of her battle armour. The stem was thick, unable to be easily tarnished.</p><p>Loki almost cried when he saw it.</p><p>But he pretended he never noticed.</p><p>A simple spell, he decided, to keep her upright. The flower would be stepped on, he knew - it was inevitable, with Asgard’s peoples coming and going - but she was strong. She would withstand it.</p><p>Loki just wanted to support her the only way he knew how.</p><p>Loki knew it could never work. But still, he pursued her through three lifetimes, and in each one she was more strong and beautiful than the last. In each one his love only grew, as he knew it would continue to for millennia to come.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Peter and Clint: “Feels good to run, doesn’t it?”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter liked to run.</p><p>He didn’t get to, often, between him living in the city, impersonating a scrawny high school kid, and playing hero as a web-slinging vigilante, but he did it whenever he got the chance.</p><p>Short sprints in the parking lot after school.</p><p>Playing a game to see how late he could wake up in the morning and still catch the train.</p><p>Being the first of his class to arrive at Delmar’s during their lunch period.</p><p>Peter liked to run.</p><p>Wind pushing his hair back, especially when gel didn’t manage to do the trick.</p><p>The sound of his feet on the pavement</p><p>The feeling of travelling so fast, nothing could find him. Nothing could chase him. Nothing could catch him.</p><p>He could leave everything behind.</p><p>Peter liked to run.</p><p>But soon it became an obsession.</p><p>He couldn’t stop, or it would all crash down on him. He had to keep going, faster and faster and faster, the only thing on his mind being whether or not he could make it another lap around the track before he collapsed. His legs becoming numb so they were moving on autopilot. Each step quickening, faster and faster, leaning further and further forward, until it felt like he was about to fall. The heavy feeling on his chest that made him nauseous at worst and breathless at best. The pain, above all.</p><p>It was the pain he deserved, after all. He was Spider-Man. He <em>loved </em>being Spider-Man - but everywhere he went, people died. Death followed him, from his parents to Ben, and it only increased when he donned the red-and-blue.</p><p>The pain was compensation. The pain was fairness, a small price to pay for all the hurt he’d caused, all the trouble he created on a daily basis. He deserved it all, the breathlessness, the feeling of an anvil on his chest, the thought that he couldn’t take another step or he’d fall.</p><p>What felt like a dance with death.</p><p>Peter liked to run.</p><p>Usually, he ran alone. But one day, on his third time around the compound’s track, he found Clint, sitting just off to the side, watching him intently. Peter brought himself to a stop, breathing heavily, his legs itching with the blood rushing back into them… or itching to move once more. But Peter wasn’t <em>that </em>disrespectful to just leave his teammate hanging.</p><p>“Feels good to run, doesn’t it?” Clint called as Peter came to a stop beside him, the kid leaning over to rest his hands on his knees as he forced breaths in and out. “Yeah, I used to run all the time. Short sprints, marathons… eventually they both blurred together, and I was sprinting a 5k every morning.”</p><p>Peter smiled, beginning to pace slowly in front of Clint as he stretched. “That’s the dream.”</p><p>Clint hummed. There was something off about it, something hidden beneath the false interest, but Peter couldn’t place it, so he let it go.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Hmm?” Peter questioned as he reached down to pull up his toes, keeping his heels planted on the ground.</p><p>“Why’s that the goal?”</p><p>Peter thought for a moment, pants finally beginning to subside. “I dunno. Just like running, I guess.”</p><p>“Do you want anything in life?”</p><p>Peter furrowed his brow, straightening and fixing Clint with a funny look. “Um… no. I guess not. I’m pretty good where I am right now.”</p><p>Clint smiled up at him from the ground, body posture, facial expression, everything relaxed as he held the conversation with Peter. “I’ve discovered that when people enjoy running, it’s either because they’re running <em>to </em>something… or <em>from </em>something.” Clint paused, letting that sink in. “For me, I wanted to grow stronger to accompany for the….” He gestured to his ears where Peter was able to see the hearing aids protruding. “I was running to a future where this wasn’t <em>all </em>I was. I was also fast, and an archer. Prepared for a family, for my kids. The perfect man on all fronts.”</p><p>Clint smiled as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jogging pants. “Unrealistic, I see that now, but I wouldn’t stop. I just kept going.</p><p>“I’ve been taking notice, Peter. You run every day. Every single morning. Most nights, too. You push yourself so hard. I see it on your face, and you go until you collapse.” He shrugged, looking Peter up and down. “I see how red your face is, how your legs shake when you run. You’re supposed to be able to feel them, you know.”</p><p>Peter blushed as he turned away, resuming his cooldown stretch. In truth, he was just stalling until Clint left and he could continue running. He still had some energy left… and he was beginning to get defensive. What was Clint implying?</p><p>Either Clint didn’t notice Peter’s frustration, or he was unbothered by it.</p><p>“What are you running from, Peter?” he asked, and Peter froze. “And why are you so desperate to get away from it?”</p><p>Peter turned sharply, too emotional and frustrated and downright <em>tired </em>to deal with this. He loved Clint. The man was a fun uncle, or a crazy brother, or… <em>whatever </em>he wasto Peter, but he had no right to claim to know what the kid was thinking. Peter needed to put a stop the accusations. <em>(Or maybe he needed to put a stop to the walls that were quickly beginning to crumble around him.)</em></p><p>But by the time Peter turned to chew Clint out, to say a snappy comment, to… <em>something</em> - Clint was gone.</p><p>Peter took a deep breath, in and out, tried to forget everything about that conversation, and stepped back on to the track.</p><p>He liked to run, after all.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Harley and Tony: fathers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony frowned at the words “Unknown Caller” that had formed on his phone screen as he lifted the phone to his ear and hit <em>Accept</em>.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“<em>Tony?</em>”</p><p>“How did you get this number?”</p><p>“<em>It’s Harley.</em>”</p><p>Tony leaned back in his desk chair, a smile blooming across his face. “Harls! I forgot I gave you this number.”</p><p>Harley groaned from the other end of the line. “<em>Forget it. I knew this was a mistake.</em>”</p><p>Tony laughed. “No, no, don’t hang up. How’ve you been?”</p><p>“<em>Pretty good, actually. I’m spending my sixteenth here in the city-</em>”</p><p>“Hey! Happy birthday, kid! If I’d realized, I would’ve sent you something.”</p><p>“<em>No. Please, don’t.</em>” Tony laughed. “<em>Actually, I was wondering if I could drop by.</em>”</p><p>“Yeah, of course.” Tony rose from his chair and began to walk out of the lab, preparing for Harley’s arrival. “I don’t think I need to give you directions. It’s the largest tower in the city. I’ll tell the secretaries to let you up.”</p><p>“<em>Thanks, Tony. I’ll see you soon.</em>”</p><p>—</p><p>Harley arrived barely fifteen minutes later.</p><p>He took the elevator straight up to Tony’s floor, where the man himself stood waiting for him.</p><p>“Great to see you, kid,” Tony greeted, putting an arm around Harley’s shoulders. Harley allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment before ducking under Tony’s arm.</p><p>“Yeah, you too, Tony.”</p><p>Tony stepped back, taking him all in. “Wow, you’ve grown since I last saw you.”</p><p>“Because that was five years ago. It’s only natural.”</p><p>“Don’t be like that,” Tony chuckled. “Hey. Sixteen now, huh? So you’ve come to ask me to teach you to drive? Good choice. Take your pick of any car in the garage - not the R8, unfortunately - well, for <em>you</em>. Fortunately for <em>me</em>-”</p><p>“Tony.” Harley held his hands out in front of him, and Tony stopped. “I appreciate the offer, really, and maybe I’ll take you up on it later, but….” Harley raised a hand to his hair and brushed back his curls, taking a slow step backward. “My dad’s back.”</p><p>Tony frowned. “What?”</p><p>“He showed up yesterday like- like nothing had happened, and suddenly he had all this money. It was his idea to take us to New York.”</p><p>“<em>Us?</em> Your mom and sister are here, too?”</p><p>“Yeah, they’re in the Lindor factory.” Harley chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Should keep them busy for a while.”</p><p>Tony leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and analyzing Harley. “So, your dad’s back. I assume you’re not happy about it.”</p><p>“He’s been gone for over a decade, and suddenly he returns, with no apology, no explanation? Yeah, you could say I’m pissed.”</p><p>Tony nodded once, eyes narrowed slightly. Harley sighed and turned away, pacing a few steps. “Sorry.”</p><p>Tony shook his head. “Not necessary. Dads suck. I get it.” He pushed himself off the wall and took a couple of steps forward. “So, what do you want me to do? Sorry to say, Iron Man won’t shoot deadbeat dads.”</p><p>“As amusing as that would be,” Harley muttered under his breath. He turned back to look at Tony. “I just… I dunno. I tried to talk to my mom about it, but she won’t listen. She thinks it’s the greatest thing ever. I’ve been trying to talk to Rosie about it before <em>she </em>falls into his trap, too, but I don’t know if I’m succeeding. He’s really laying it on thick.”</p><p>Tony was quiet for a moment before nodding to the couch behind them. Harley followed Tony to take a seat.</p><p>“Look, you’re mad at your dad, I get it, but he’s back now. Isn’t that good enough?”</p><p>“I’ve spent my childhood hating him. I’m not just going to forgive him.”</p><p>“I’m not telling you to.” Tony leaned forward slightly. Harley’s gaze shifted between his eyes. “I’m saying, maybe just enjoy this for what it is. Forget the past and enjoy the time you have now - at least, until you can move out in two years. And let your family enjoy it, too. I’m sure this is all your mother’s been hoping for. Your sister will get the paternal support she needs.”</p><p>“<em>I </em>had to be the one to give her that support, for <em>twelve years</em>, because my father left!<em>” </em>Harley shook his head, lips pinching together. “I thought you’d understand, what with everything that happened with <em>your </em>dad-”</p><p>“Low blow, Keener,” Tony said, but it lacked bite. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you this. Look, my dad was a grade-A asshole, but if I could, I would give anything to see him again, to <em>talk </em>to him again. I wouldn’t forget the past - there’s too much for me to even attempt to do that - but at least I could create a pleasant present.”</p><p>Harley swallowed thickly. “I don’t know if I can do that.”</p><p>“Oh, I think you can.” Tony smiled softly. “You have a good heart, Keener. You just want to protect your family, I get that. But… maybe this is the best option for them right now.”</p><p>Harley sighed, shaking his head slightly and averting his gaze. “Fine. But just for you.”</p><p>“I’m honored.” Tony smiled as he helped Harley stand. “Go enjoy your sixteenth. Party a little harder for me. And, hey, if you ever want to drop by when you’re <em>not </em>taking advantage of me, feel free to. I’m more than a therapist, you know.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, why did you show up in my garage six years ago?” Harley teased, stepping back into the elevator. Tony shook his head.</p><p>“And just as I was about to offer you the R8, too.”</p><p>Harley smiled as the elevator doors began to close. “Thank you, Tony.”</p><p>“See you, Harls.”</p><p>The doors shut amidst the sound of Harley’s frustrated groan.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. ♪ Penny and Ned: Rachel by Steppes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Penny had changed since Ned first knew her. She used to be innocent and naive, giggling and constantly happy. Recently though, she had become more serious. Subdued. They spoke less, only to discuss homework. He didn’t know what to do to help her, but he tried.</p><p>He tried to talk to her about it, to get her to open up and trust him with what was bothering her. She said everything was okay, that she was just stressed right now and would be back to normal in a little while, and thanked him for his concern.</p><p>Apparently, those causes of stress never let up. She never got better.</p><p>Then Ned tried to be the silent, supportive friend. He invited her out to the movies, he brought her homemade cookies for lunch, and he texted her about cool things he noticed in his day. Nothing seemed to appease the storm raging inside her mind.</p><p>It began to weigh on him, Penny’s apathy, her disappointment in life, and the fact that Ned could do nothing about it, no matter how he tried - but he caught on to what was happening, to the plague spreading to him. He refused to allow that. If both of them were pulled under, he didn’t think there would be any chance of either surfacing.</p><p>So, he took a couple of days. He took care of <em>himself</em>.</p><p>He showed up on the fourth day at Penny’s front door, a bag of chips in one hand and a stack of movies in the other.</p><p>They sat on Penny’s couch and watched movies all day. They said nothing, both watching the screen in silence. About half way through their day Penny leaned over, dropping her head onto Ned’s shoulder. Ned only moved to better situate himself to make her more comfortable.</p><p>As the third movie ended and Ned moved to put in the fourth, Penny caught his arm, stopping him. He looked back at her, expectant.</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispered. Ned just smiled, planting a kiss on her head before moving back to the DVD player.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Miles and Peter B.: Graffiti</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miles glances up at Peter B. Parker, watching as he stuffs his mouth full of french fries. Miles can’t hide the grimace that crosses his features as he watches Peter smack his lips together and go for another bite; Miles has to stop this while he still can.</p><p>“What do you like to do, Peter?”</p><p>Peter freezes, fries held half-way to his mouth. “Huh?”</p><p><em>Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot</em>, Miles thinks with disgust. “What do you do in your free time?”</p><p>“Uh….” Peter thinks for a moment. “Oh, you know that show <em>House Hunters?</em>”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Miles says slowly. “Anything else?”</p><p>“Well, I make a pretty mean pizza burrito. You take pizza, stuff some cheese inside-”</p><p>“Have you ever spray painted?”</p><p>Peter frowns at Miles, dropping his fries back down to the table. <em>Finally</em>. “No, I haven’t spray painted. What, like graffiti?” Miles nods. “That’s illegal.”</p><p>“Then you’d better hope you didn’t eat too much fast food to run away from the cops.”</p><p>Peter scoffs as he follows Miles from the booth.</p><p>//</p><p>“Here,” Miles says, setting down his duffel bag. Peter crouches behind him as if cowering, eyes scouring the empty parking lot they’re standing in.</p><p>“A <em>police station?</em>” he whispers harshly as Miles begins to retrieve spray cans from his bag.</p><p>“It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“You’re practically begging to get arrested right now, Miles, and <em>I’m </em>going to be held responsible! You know what? I- I’m not going to let you do this.” Peter straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Miles only pauses long enough to raise a brow before leaning back over his materials, selecting a red can, and beginning to shake it vigorously.</p><p>“You’re not even listening to me right now. What happened to respecting your elders? Wow. I’m just- am I invisible to you?” Miles disappears before Peter’s eyes, and for a moment Peter watches a spray can hover in mid-air. “Ha, ha,” Peter deadpans as Miles re-appears.</p><p>“Alright, come here,” Miles calls. Peter shakes his head.</p><p>“You can’t make me.”</p><p>Miles rolls his eyes, stepping forward and pressing the can into Peter’s hand. “Who’s the adult here? Just, come on. It’ll be fine. Shake it, and then press this here. Get closer for more detail, otherwise it’ll spray-” Miles is interrupted as the front of his jacket is covered in red. He freezes, staring up at a guilty-looking Peter.</p><p>“Sorry,” Peter mutters, and Miles shakes his head as if to dismiss the apology, biting back a laugh.</p><p>“That’s alright. Look, aim here.” Miles repositions the can in Peter’s hand. “Try again.” Slowly, Peter applies pressure to the nozzle, and the can sputters. Miles raises a hand to cover his laughter under the impression of rubbing his chin, and Peter glares at him.</p><p>“You’re laughing at me.”</p><p>“No! No, I’m not laughing.”</p><p>“You are.” Peter curses, throwing the can down. “I shouldn’t have- yeah, I shouldn’t be here. I’m just going to-”</p><p>“Alright, okay, stop. Hold on.” Miles reaches for the can and begins to shake it, looking inquisitively at the wall, like he’s studying a canvas. In a way, he is, seeing the finished product before it’s even begun.</p><p>Peter fades to the back of Miles’ mind as he steps up to the wall and presses the nozzle, beginning to paint rough outlines, faint details. He does the base in red, before adding details in black on one side, blue on the other. He steps back what feels like a handful of seconds later, though it’s probably closer to ten minutes, and he smiles at the finished product. Peter moves to Miles’ side, gazing at the wall.</p><p>“Huh,” he says after a moment. “Nice job, kid.”</p><p>Miles smiles as he looks up at the mural, two Spider-Men side-by-side, one larger with blue suit details and the other smaller with black. “Do you have anything you want to add?”</p><p>Peter analyzes the wall for a moment, before stepping forward. Hesitantly, he reaches for a white can and holds it up to the figure on the right, the larger one, wide eyes staring back at him from the wall.</p><p>“I might ruin it,” Peter mutters, unable to move his eyes from the artwork.</p><p>“If that happens, we’ll just start over. You never know, you might even improve it.”</p><p>Uncertainly, Peter nods, raising the can higher. Leaning away as if in fear, he presses down on the nozzle, and adds a curve beneath the eyes, a shaky smile. It looks funny atop Spider-Man’s mask, but Peter smiles proudly.</p><p>“Nice,” he comments, holding his hand out for the can. “May I?”</p><p>Peter passes the spray can over, and Miles adds a smirk to the smaller Spider-Man. They step back, admiring their work in silence.</p><p>Peter is just getting comfortable when he hears whistling.</p><p>He turns, heart jumping into his throat. “<em>Cop</em>,” he whispers harshly. Miles just casts the can aside, relaxing his shoulders. “Miles? We’ve gotta <em>go-</em>”</p><p>“Hey Dad,” Miles calls, and Peter freezes.</p><p>“Wha- <em>Dad?</em>”</p><p>“Miles,” the officer greets as he gets nearer, nodding to the wall. “Nice. Hey, that one looks like you.”</p><p>“Yeah, well.” Miles shrugs. “Anyone can wear the mask.”</p><p>Mr. Morales chuckles appreciatively before his eyes turn to Peter, and he lays a protective arm over Miles’ shoulders. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“Um… this is… my uncle.”</p><p>Mr. Morales tenses. “Your <em>what?</em>”</p><p>Miles’ eyes widen at his mistake. “Oh! Not my real- not my real uncle, because you would’ve known about him! Of course, that’s just… just what we call him… on the street, you know? He’s… <em>the uncle</em>.”</p><p>Peter raises a brow. Miles just shrugs, looking lost, as he mouths back, <em>I don’t know</em>.</p><p>Peter clears his throat. “Yeah, I caught him doing one of his murals a while back. We’ve connected a couple of times since.”</p><p>Mr. Morales nods, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Hm. Alright, get your stuff,” he tells Miles. “Let’s head home.”</p><p>Miles heads for his duffel, Peter trailing after him.</p><p>“Your dad’s a cop?!” he whispers. Miles just grins.</p><p>“How else do you think I got access to this wall?” Peter just rolls his eyes. “Oh, and, hey, you just lied to a cop.” Peter’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open, flabbergasted. “Alright, I’m going to head home now, thanks for your help!”</p><p>Miles grins as he heads back to his father’s side, leaving Peter to have an existential crisis behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Tony: space</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony loves space. For as long as he can remember he’s been staring up at the night sky, from the ledge at his bedroom window or the perch in Howard’s library, or sometimes Jarvis would even take him to a nearby clearing and together, they’d watch the lights twinkling far, far above.</p><p>Tony didn’t know what they were, but one by one, he learned. The bright one, that’s Polaris; it’s always visible. Jarvis pointed it out to him. In the winter Tony watches Orion hurry across the sky, chasing an unseen monster he’ll never catch, three stars in a straight line notifying Tony of his presence. And, on Tony’s birthday, after Howard gives him a blank card and Mom offers him a cupcake and they both head to bed, Jarvis will help sneak Tony outside. He’ll walk hand-in-hand with Tony through the woods behind Howard’s mansion, taking a right at the large boulder and a left at the patch of yellow flowers that glow in the moonlight, and six and a third recounts of the periodic table later, they’ll find themselves in a clearing.</p><p>Tony will run to the middle and dive onto his back, dirtying his clothes in a way that would have Howard scoffing and turning his back and Mom shaking her head in disapproval; but Tony does it anyway, and soon Jarvis will join him, smiling fondly as he picks his way to the centre of the clearing and gently lowers himself to the ground beside Tony. He’ll point out Gemini, the Twins, and Tony will simply stare at the constellation Jarvis says is his. And so, Tony makes it his own.</p><p>If he focuses he can pinpoint every star that makes up the Twins, can imagine them holding hands, dancing at sometimes, simply playing at others, all things Tony himself was never allowed to do, but always wishes he could.</p><p>He wishes he could join the stars, could live among them, could dance beside them. He wishes he could fly up to where they are and never return; maybe he’ll send for Jarvis, but he believes he’ll fare well enough alone. He wants to glide across the sky, smooth as ink over paper, untethered, left to float in whichever way the cosmos deems fit. He wants people to be able to look up at him, to say, <em>There he goes</em>, to watch as he soars by, to reach for him, but never quite catch him. He wants to slide from their grasp, every time.</p><p>He wants to be a beacon of hope, of self-acceptance, of joy and unity apart and love. He wants people to know of him, to think of him, to believe in him, to rely on him - but he doesn’t want to be real, no, he wants to be an image, something people see without knowing, know without seeing. He doesn’t want to exist, not really - he wants to be a thought, to survive in memories as opposed to the physical realm, to be forgotten and remembered with glee when he reaches one’s eyes. He wants to live eternally and die within every lost thought. He simply wants to drift.</p><p>Maybe he’ll be a comet, a bright light, a unique soul, bursting through the sky and bringing joy to whoever’s lucky enough to spot him; or maybe he’ll be a planet, a giver of live, a provider above all else. A safe place. Maybe he’ll be a star, the centre of a solar system, something constant and reliable - until one day he burns too bright, absorbing everything that’s around him, anything that gets too close, devouring it all in a brilliant ball of light, an attempt to reach further, always further. Maybe he’ll be an inhabitable planet, a false hope, sandy earth not made for life and dense, poisonous clouds depriving all habitants of nutrients. Maybe his comet will fly too close to a planet, become a meteoroid to a meteor to a meteorite, striking the surface and wreaking havoc, wanting desperately to be apart of something, trying to get closer, to make contact. Maybe in his haste to save, he’ll destroy, a catastrophic event at his hands, chaos and destruction in his path.</p><p>Maybe he’ll be a black hole, stoic, silent, until one gets too close, until curiosity becomes lethal, until he devours all around him, destroying it all in one violent rampage, one explosive event, a catastrophe you don’t see coming until it’s already happened, until it’s too late, until you can’t see anything else.</p><p>Tony blinks, stars twinkling above him. <em>Happy twelfth birthday</em>, the card lying forgotten under his bed reads.</p><p>The air that surrounds him is still, serene, the inverted eye of a storm - because the storm is within, always within, a compacted container that just may one day explode, fueled by denial and betrayal and abandonment, by shouted disappointments and quiet threatenings, by turned backs and closed doors, and when a storm grows that violent nothing can soothe it. Sun will create a rainbow which will soon be slashed through, individual particles strewn aside. The most gentle breeze will cause it to escalate, violent winds growing in strength, spinning faster. Gentle rains will create a battle the water can never hope to win, but the storm always will.</p><p>The storm devours all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Bucky & Peter & Tony: destruction and mending</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>This isn’t the first time Bucky’s woken from a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And it definitely won’t be his last. He can’t remember the last time he’s slept, free of his own repressed memories. Probably before the war. Every night since then has been haunted, plagued by the acts committed by his own hands.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As he bolts upright, breaths already finding that steady rhythm that was beaten into him, he remembers, as he forces himself to every time. Tonight, it was Elizabeth Reynolds. Drowned, in her own penthouse bathtub. The Winter Soldier had snuck in through a window so high up no one, let alone Elizabeth, thought anyone could scale. He pressed a cloth to her face and held her under. She thrashed, clawing at his arm-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky rotates the metal appendage where it rests beside him on the hardwood floor, half-expecting to see chips of pink nail polish in the folds.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ever since the war, sleep had become an enemy. When he was lying in the trenches, it slipped from his grasp, and he had to learn to live without it. He’s glad for the training he volunteered for; it helped him adjust to the one he was forced into. Between the training and the enhancements and the punishments, Bucky can stay awake for days at a time. If he’s lucky, he can stay a week. Now that he’s at the compound, his internal defences are failing him. His body’s begun to think he’s safe. He can barely go for five days.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The compound. Steve had been the one to invite him in as they got the whole Accords thing figured out, not even four months ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You have to stay somewhere, Buck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve had said, and the nickname caught Bucky off-guard. He had to drop his head as his heart twisted. That single syllable brought him back to a time long forgotten, but to get there he first had to overcome… some </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>things he’d experienced since.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky had been entirely ready to refuse—he’d gotten used to living on the streets, rented apartment to abandoned house—until that douchebag Ross paid him a visit. Told him he had to stay somewhere where he could be monitored. It’s not like Bucky had much of a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony met him on the front steps of the compound, hands behind his back and chin high. His sunglasses remained on, even as Tony led them inside. Tony gave him the short tour—kitchens this way, medical there—and Bucky watched his shoulders tense with every word Steve said, every time the man stepped a little too close, leaned a little too-far forward. Every time it happened, Bucky took another step back.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>From that day, he vowed to keep his distance, until Bucky Barnes could atone for the deeds the Winter Soldier had done. Three months later, he had yet to make a difference. He wouldn’t speak to Tony until he knew he could make it right.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Now, the floorboards creak beneath Bucky as he sits upright, running a hand down his face. Despite the fear he feels racing through his veins and the way his muscles seize with the slightest movement, he’s yet to sweat a single drop. His body’s used to worse than this.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He feels Elizabeth’s hands on his arm, hears her gasp, the one scream he allowed to escape-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky grits his teeth together and forces his eyes open wide. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blankets. Floor. Wall. Window.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If he blinks, he’ll be stuck there. One thing’s for sure—he’s not going back to sleep tonight. Bucky looks out of the window, tracks the stars, regards the shadows the moon leaves across his untouched bed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Two a.m.,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he notes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enough sleep to get me through three days.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’ll have to do.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky moves to stand, the silence of his bedsheets and the floorboards as he rises unnerving even him. Every other person seems to make sounds: the swishing of clothing as they move; footsteps, even the slightest, on the floor; sighs and breaths as they react and speak. Even Steve is more expressive. Bucky, however, is silent, and he can’t seem to be anything less than. It’s like the sounds have been stolen along with the rest of him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky lets his feet take him where they want to lead. He hasn’t explored the compound much since arriving, so he simply avoids noises, turning away from hushed whispers, beeping machines, and the occasional laughter. (Hearing it makes him happy, and then so, so sad.) He finds himself in the communal area, a wide space with couches and televisions and even a small kitchenette in the corner. He settles on one of the couches with a sigh, uncomfortable with how he sinks into the cushions. He forces himself to become comfortable. He’s done better with worse.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Thoughts flood his mind as he reaches for the remote, fumbling for the power button, needing anything to drown out his own brain. The television powers to life, and Bucky stares as people move across the screen in full colour and crystal-clear sound. He’s still not quite used to it, and before he knows it his vision blurs as he sinks into the cushions, drowning, drowning, somewhere weightless and deep down. He doesn’t know where he is, but he’s not here and he’s not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>there,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so this is fine. This is…</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Somewhere terrible.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Something unnerves Bucky and he sits upright, lowering the volume on the television without even having to look at the remote. His eyes find the far doorway, one of the many entrances to the wide room. He doesn’t know what alarmed him yet, and so he waits. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t even register that fact that he’s stopped breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you serious?” Bucky hears, and he waits as the voice gets closer. Two pairs of footsteps, one dragging, the other almost skipping. “Come on, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>must know how wrong your statement is. Thor could take out the Hulk, any day.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, I think you’re definitely underestimating the green guy’s abilities.” Bucky’s eyes widen microscopically, and fear clutches his heart. Because that voice- that belongs to-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Really, Mr. Stark?” the high-voiced child laughs. “Thor can summon </span>
  <em>
    <span>lightning-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And the Hulk can take </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>out. Thor can’t even do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The entrance where Bucky came in is behind him and a little to the left. If he makes a break for it now—no. Their voices are too close. At the angle they’re coming in from, they’ll see him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It’s too late.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky’s last movement before they enter the room is leaning back into the couch, aligning his body in one line. Maybe they’re just passing through; maybe they won’t see him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The child comes in first—Peter, Bucky remembers faintly, from that first day. It was just a second, a quick hello before Tony was moving on. The man himself walks in next, smiling faintly as he watches Peter’s hopping form. There’s something pure on Tony’s face, something Bucky’s not sure he’ll ever understand.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky’s too focused on watching Tony that he doesn’t notice the child still and turn in his direction, and by that point it’s too late. Peter has his gaze fixed on Bucky, posture suddenly shock-still. Bucky just stares back, not even daring to breathe, registering the unusual immobility of the child; he barely sees Peter’s shoulders rise and fall with his breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony squints through the darkness, covering the distance across the wide room. “What-” The room lights up at just that word, and Bucky tenses as he’s illuminated in a faint blue. He’s exposed. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony recoils as if he’s been slapped, head turning away. Bucky’s throat closes up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t mean to…</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to say, but he wouldn’t know how to finish it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t mean to startle you? To wait in the dark? To ruin your relationship with Steve? To put your life at stake?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To murder your family?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>It’s too much, and Bucky finds himself saying nothing, on the verge of shivering under the lights. Peter moves closer.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mr. Barnes?” he questions.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky clears his throat. Tony’s hands clench at his sides. He has yet to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Just Bucky, kid,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Didn’t think anyone would be awake,” Peter says, abashed—and then, his eyes widen. “Oh, did </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wake you up? Was I too loud? I-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony laughs, a pitch too high and cut off too soon. His eyes go from the floor to Peter, evidently </span>
  <em>
    <span>around</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bucky. “What, from the lab, through the hallways, all the way to the bedroom wing?” he says with an empty smile, and Peter chuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess you’re right.” He looks back to Bucky. “Ah, well. What’re you doing?” He inches closer, and Bucky sees Tony leaned forward—in a protective measure, he notices. Bucky angles his body away from Peter as he gestures to the television. “Oh. What show?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>For the first time since turning it on, Bucky notices the contents of the television, realizing it’s more than just a blue glow. He blinks, shrugging. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’d better relax. Act more human. Tony’s about two quick movements away from going on the offensive.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Uh, I… don’t know. I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, Brooklyn Nine-Nine!” Peter lets out a cheer and lunges forward, falling onto the couch without a moment’s hesitation. Bucky hears Tony’s intake of breath from where he’s standing and Tony hurries forward, pressing himself at the end of the couch nearest Peter. Bucky allows himself a quick glance in the man’s direction. Tony’s eyes are wide, facing forward. He swallows, looking like it physically pains him to do so.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes,” Peter whispers excitedly. “This is the best episode.” They lapse into a tense silence, Bucky afraid to breathe the wrong way, Tony looking like a tiger ready to pounce. Peter sits casually between them, lounging back on the cushions. Bucky makes himself aware of the tiniest movement, every dip in the couch. His entire body screams </span>
  <em>
    <span>threat, threat, threat. Get out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When their episode finishes Peter stands, and Bucky allows himself the tiniest exhale. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe they’ll leave, go to bed, and I’ll return to my room. I’m never doing this again, they’ll never have to see me—broke your vow. Stupid, idiot-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony scoffs out the slightest laugh, and Bucky startles, looking up to where Peter occupies the kitchenette. “What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tony exclaims jokingly, voice echoing across the vast space and Peter shrugs, holding up what he has in his hand. Bucky has no difficulty seeing it from where he sits; it’s a hot chocolate powder packet. “It’s two- </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the morning!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah.” Peter draws out the word. “It’s also Brooklyn Nine-Nine. T.V. marathon, Mr. Stark. Settle in!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter continues his jolly expedition in the kitchen, and Tony turns his head slightly at Peter’s words. Nervously, Bucky looks up to see Tony’s silhouette. If Tony just looked a bit more to the right, they’d be eye-to-eye, and they both know it</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony doesn’t breathe. Neither does Bucky.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter, unaware, skips between them and settles on the couch. His presence lures, heavy, at Bucky’s side. Slowly, inch by inch, Tony lowers himself down to the cushions on Peter’s other side, pressing close to the boy. Bucky squeezes as close to the armrest as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony tries to keep conversation light—or maybe he wants to make Bucky aware of his presence, asking questions throughout the show. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s that? Why would they—oh, I see.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And once, Tony even chuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky can’t focus on the movie, his own analysis going on in his mind. What does this mean? Tony being here, Tony </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> And Peter… well, the kid’s not scared of him, doesn’t give him odd looks like everyone else does. What is it about these two people? Bucky can’t quite figure it out, but he sure hopes Tony will allow it to continue, for just a little longer. Bucky wants to be alone. He needs to be alone—or does he only </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> he does? Because this, right here, being with actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>people….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He’s hurt so many in the past. Healing isn’t easier, per se, but it’s more pleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bucky thinks he wants to do it more often.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>When Peter finally tires himself out, eyes falling shut and nodding off against Tony’s shoulder—his head had brushed Bucky’s arm a couple of times, and at those times Bucky refused to even blink, feeling Tony’s eyes piercing the side of his head—Tony ushers the boy up from the couch, slinging his arm around Peter’s shoulders and lifting the cup from his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“G’night, Bucky,” Peter slurs. The name makes Bucky smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And then, looking back over his shoulder, Tony’s eyes meet his.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony doesn’t quite smile, no—but he nods. An acknowledgement, a hint of hope toward the future, something better.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The Winter Soldier has done nothing but destroy for years. It’s time for Bucky to begin mending.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Peter and Steve: fractured wrist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Tony taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives Peter to school, a nervous habit the teen watches with amusement. Tony’s managed to stay quiet 15 minutes in New York traffic, but he’s about to break. He inhales, and Peter gets excited. There’s not much that makes Tony nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So, Peter,” he says. His voice is light, yet his knuckles are pale. “You know that recently I’ve been seeing my- well, he’s, um-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Steve,” Peter supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes.” Tony offers him a grateful smile. “Steve. Well, things are going well, and I was thinking… maybe I want you to meet him. You know, if you’re comfortable with it. It’s just that—well, recently it’s- I mean, I think it’s just… it’s time that you meet,” Tony finishes with a shrug. HIs eyes are on the road, and Peter bites back a grin. Tony really cares, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter says. “Sounds great.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He watches the tension release from his father’s shoulders. “Oh,” he sighs. “Great. I was thinking tonight, actually. I could maybe make something special, or- or we could order in, you know. Whatever works.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Sounds good.” It’s almost nice to see Tony so nervous, to see him care about something so deeply it manifests in… </span>
  <em>
    <span>this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> whatever it is. The downside: Tony rarely </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>gets nervous, so when he does, it’s pretty rough.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony parks around the corner from the school and lets Peter hop out. “So, tonight then,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t worry about picking me up,” Peter responds. “I’ll walk. It’s usually faster than rush hour traffic, anyway. You figure out what’s happening for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ha, ha,” Tony says sarcastically as Peter closes the car door. Still, the look on his father’s face as he drives away tells Peter the man has absolutely no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>//</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter swears this city’s out to get him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He had just been praising it, actually, for giving him a semi-average day at school. Nothing too had happened, which was… unusual, actually, with his luck. But that was before the universe realized who he was and sent a sewer grate right in his path on his walk home. Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>swears</span>
  </em>
  <span> it materialized out of nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Well, at least he decided to take a shortcut down an alleyway. Sprawling out on the sidewalk in the centre of New York rush hour foot traffic would have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>mortifying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Now, however, Peter finds himself lying in a puddle, his overfilled school bag spilling over, and he’s lying on his left arm which—</span>
  <em>
    <span>ow.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Damn, that hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter slides his right hand beneath him and tries to push up, but his left arm burns, and with a grunt he lets himself back down. The pain’s so strong he can’t even tell where on his arm it’s spreading from. He’s not even sure he’ll be able to make it out of this alleyway. Now, he regrets being away from the main street.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Shit,” he groans as he leans all his weight onto his left arm, leaving his right to mop puddle water off his cheek and to scoop up his sopping homework papers. What luck.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>You can’t just stay here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter’s mind helpfully supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I know, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he grumbles back.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Gotta get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But if you move your arm, it’s gonna hurt like hell.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Peter says aloud. He brings his right hand to his left and begins to feel along it. His shoulder—shit, that hurts. He moves down to his elbow and—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Okay, don’t do that. He finally prods his fingers at his left wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A bout of white hot pain rolls over him, nauseating him and causing his head to spin. Sweat breaks out along the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Pass out,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mind says.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you fucking dare,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter shouts back. He’s gotta get home. He’s gotta-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony can help him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Tony can fix this.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Okay, that’s not so bad. He’s about a ten minute walk away from the tower. He can do ten minutes. He’s just gotta-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Not</span>
  </em>
  <span> stand. Nope, he’s not going to do that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sighing, Peter gathers his backpack and fallen supplies and cradles them in one hand as best he can. He has to move, he knows that; he can’t just stay here. He has to do it. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go.</span>
  </em>
  <span> One, two, three-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter stands with such momentum and the movement catches him off balance so that he goes crashing into the building wall beside him. Bile rises in his throat and he keeps his eyes shut against the pain as his arm buzzes. A string of curse words sails through Peter’s mind and he’s still going long after the pain dissipates.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Swearing isn’t going to get you anywhere.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, but it feels good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Well, at least he’s on his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter supports his left wrist in his right hand and begins the slow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>excruciating</span>
  </em>
  <span> walk home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>//</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter’s on the verge of passing out by the time the tower comes into view. He wants to put his arm down, to try to act normal because these people know him, but every time he tries to lessen the pressure he feels like he’s going to crumble into dust.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He just has to fight through it, then.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>things seem to work out. A kind man grabs the door for him so he doesn’t have to pull it open. The elevator doors are already waiting and ready to go up when Peter steps inside. He waits a few stops, standing between a woman with a briefcase and a man who looks way too young to be working on the floor he gets off on, and then Peter’s alone. He collapses back against the wall the second the doors close, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He feels clammy with sweat and he fears the weight of his backpack may just tear his shoulders off, and the pain emanating from his wrist has become relentless, sending wave after horrid wave of heat and pain and nausea through his veins. </span>
  <em>
    <span>None</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this is good.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Just get to Tony. You’re almost there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The elevator lights up a faint blue, Friday making her presence known. “Hello, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey, Fri.” His voice is quiet, barely slipping past his lips. His words tremble.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“To the penthouse?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The elevator begins to rise again, a soothing motion that Peter allows himself to drift into.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Is everything alright?” Friday asks gently.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Just-” The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, and Peter grits his teeth. “Swell.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The door slides open and cool air rushes into the elevator. Peter’s eyes squeeze shut and his mind begins to fade. “This is your stop,” Friday urges gently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just another minute,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or two, or-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Peter?” a worried voice says, and Peter’s eyes snap open. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> his father’s voice. For one horrifying moment, Peter worries if Friday brought him to the wrong floor.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A blond man stands beyond the open doors, his height and wide build the perfect recipe for intimidation—except his expression looks like that of a terrified cocker spaniel. “Peter Stark?” he says again. “It’s, uh, Steve. Your father had to run out, he told me you’d be coming—” Steve stops for a beat, and his expression softens. “Wow, you look just like your dad.” A wave of nausea overcomes Peter, and his body sags, eyes falling shut yet again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The darkness feels so nice.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Steve hurries forward into the elevator, hands ghosting over Peter, frantically trying to find a safe place to touch. “Uh, what happened?” he asks, his voice quivering.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Broken wrist,” Peter sighs. “I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Through the slits in Peter’s eyelids, he sees Steve’s face pale. “Oh. Uh, um. Alright. Alright, here.” Steve’s hand touches Peter’s right shoulder and he slowly begins to guide the boy forward. As soon as they’re out of the elevator Steve eases the backpack off Peter’s shoulders and sets it down on the ground. Water dampens the floor. “What’d you do, fall into the river? Geez, you’re probably radioactive,” Steve tries to joke, but the concern on his face is evident as he takes Peter’s pained wrist in his own.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His hands are gentle as he brushes over the skin, his touch bringing a welcome cooling effect to Peter’s burning warmth. “Okay, this, um—” He applies pressure to the base of Peter’s palm and the boy sucks in a breath, turning his head away as his vision goes white. He’s going to pass out. He’s going to vomit. No, he’s going to pass out, then vomit. Wait-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Does that hurt?” Steve asks, eyes wide and concerned. Peter just manages to swallow bile and has to refrain from sneering at the man that’s his father’s boyfriend, potentially becoming something more later. Wait, will it become something more? Wait, does that mean Peter will have to call Steve, Dad? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Peter shakes his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not the time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes,” Peter bites out through gritted teeth. “That hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay. Well….” Steve sucks in through his teeth, looking around the room. When his eyes settle back on Peter’s, he’s calmer, more settled. “Probably a fracture. I’ve broken a couple bones in my day. Ideally, I would take you to a hospital, but… well, I don’t want Tony to think I’ve broken his kid, so-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No hospital,” Peter agrees. The place always gave him the creeps.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, so then this is relatively simple. We just need a splint. Something to keep the bone in the position, right? C’mere.” Steve places a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guides him forward to the kitchen. “You guys have wooden utensils, right? In one of these drawers?” Peter’s brow furrows as he points to the one left of the stove. “Great.” Steve opens it and begins rummaging around.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He comes away with a wooden spoon.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter scoffs. “What’re you gonna-” Steve holds the spoon lengthways against his wrist, measuring it out. “No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m sure your father can afford another one.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You can’t fix a bone with a spoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“The spoon’s just holding it in place. The bone will fix itself. Trust me, I had to use a lot of home remedies when I was younger. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Steve grins, looking down. “Unless the bone shifted,” he mutters under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t worry about it. Now we just need something to hold the spoon in place-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Scotch tape?” Peter mocks. Steve meets Peter’s eyes for 0.5 seconds in a way that makes Peter believe he’s made a mistake. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> not Scotch tape.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No,” Steve agrees, as if Peter were crazy to even suggest the idea in the first place—but then, Steve frowns. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, my God. He was going to wrap my arm in Scotch tape,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, how about that bandage- that wrap- </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Gauze?” Peter supplies, unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah. That.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“First aid kit’s in the bedroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Steve nods, turning and heading down the hallway. He catches himself too late, turning back to Peter with an awkward smile. “Um, which way’s the bedroom?” Peter just raises a brow, and Steve gives a resigned sigh. “Yeah, I already know where it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter cradles his arm close to him, trying to not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about what that means.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It takes a couple minutes and the sound of multiple tumbling objects for Steve to return, gauze in hand. He steps closer, and Peter doesn’t like the way Steve regards his arm, like it’s a puzzle. “I can do this,” Steve mutters. Peter’s eyes widen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to die here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>in the care of my dad’s new boyfriend.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>//</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter’s arm is tucked against his stomach as he curls up on the couch, watching the television across the room with barely-open eyes. Steve paces near the kitchen table, his hair sticking up from the amount of times he’s run his hands through it. If Peter were to pay just 7% more attention, he’d be able to hear Steve mutter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m dead. Tony’s going to kill me. I’m dead.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Unfortunately, Peter’s paying too much attention to not dying himself that he doesn’t hear anything of the sort.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>When the elevator doors open and Tony </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> steps through, Peter feels like he might as well </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>the couch. He doesn’t want to move again. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>At the way Peter’s angled Tony doesn’t see him, and instead walks straight to Steve, smiling and giving him a kiss on the cheek. In his hand he holds a bag of takeout, and Peter angles his head toward it. It does smell really good.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hi,” Tony greets, his voice soft. Peter would smile at the sound if it didn’t make his whole body hurt. “Did Peter get home okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Yeah, we got to meet.” Steve is speaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too fast as he looks over Tony’s head. Tony turns, giving Peter a distracted look, before setting the food down on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, lovely! Great,” he says, beginning to open the bags and pulling containers out. “Well, I’m pretty sure the noodles spilled, so everything gets a side of noodles tonight, but, well, we’ll deal with it.” He sighs, turning from the food and smiling wide—first to Steve, and then to Peter. “Hey, Pete. Ready to eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peter gives a slanted grin. “Sounds great,” he sighs. “But first-” He lifts his arm, barely able to feel the pain—or the arm itself, for that matter—and the gauze, poorly applied, slips off his arm. The spoon follows, clattering to the floor. Steve winces with every noise, and Tony’s eyes blow wide when he catches sight of the purple and deep red that adorns Peter’s wrist. “Can you take me to the hospital?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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